ADVENTURES 
AMONG  BIRDS 


the  Same  Author 


THE  LAND'S  END 

AFOOT  IN  ENGLAND 

A  SHEPHERD'S  LIFE 

HAMPSHIRE  DAYS 

NATURE  IN  DOWNLAND 

THE  NATURALIST  IN  LA  PLATA 

IDLE  DAYS  IN  PATAGONIA 

SOUTH  AMERICAN  STRETCHES 

THE  PURPLE  LAND 

GREEN   MANSIONS 

A  CRYSTAL  AGE 

BIRDS  AND  MAN 


ADVENTURES 
BIRDS 


By 

W.   H.  HUDSON 


WITH   Jl    PORTRAIT 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
1915 


Printtd  in  Great  Britain 


OBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  UARHAKA 


A  CONSIDERABLE  portion  of  the  matter  contained 
herein  has  appeared  in  the  English  Review, 
Cornhill  Magazine,  Saturday  Review,  Nation, 
and  a  part  of  one  chapter  in  the  Morning  Post. 
These  articles  have  been  altered  and  extended, 
and  I  am  obliged  to  the  Editors  and  Publishers 
for  permission  to  use  them  in  this  book. 


Once  1  was  part  of  the  music  I  heard 

On  the  boughs  or  sweet  between  earth  and  sky, 
For  joy  ol  the  beating  of  wings  on  high 

My  heart  shot  into  the  breast  of  a  bird. 

I  hear  it  now  and  1  see  it  fly, 
And  a  life  in  wrinkles  again  is  stirred, 
My  heart  shoots  into  the  breast  of  a  bird, 

As  it  will  for  sheer  love  till  the  last  long  sigh. 

MEREDITH. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.    THE  BOOK:    AN  APOLOGY    .         .         .         i 

II.    CARDINAL  :    THE    STORY    OF    MY    FIRST 

CAGED  BIRD    .         .          .         .          .12 

III.  WELLS- NEXT-THE- SEA,       WHERE       WILD 

GEESE  CONGREGATE  .         .         •  -       •       25 

IV.  GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS      .          .          -34 
V.    BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY   ....       43 

VI.  A  WOOD  BY  THE  SEA  ....       56 

VII.  FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS        .          .          .66 

VIII.  THE  SACRED  BIRD        ....       85 

IX.  A  TIRED  TRAVELLER  (Turdus  iliacus)      .       95 

X.  WHITE  DUCK      .         .         .         .         .104 

XI.  AN  IMPRESSION  OF  AXE  EDGE         .         .117 

XII.  BIRDS  OF  THE  PEAK      ....     125 

XIII.  THE  RING-OUZEL  AS  A  SONGSTER    .         .133 

XIV.    BIRD  Music 141 

XV.    IN    A   GREEN    COUNTRY    IN     QUEST    OF 

RARE  SONGSTERS       .         .         .         .150 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOK 

XVI.    IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE          .  .160 

XVII.   THE  FURZE-WREN  OR  FURZE- FAIRY  .     169 

XVIII.    BACK  TO  THE  WEST  COUNTRY    .  .178 

XIX.     AVALON   AND   A   BLACKBIRD             .  .185 

XX.   THE  LAKE  VILLAGE           .         .  .195 

XXI.   THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  Music  .  .     203 

XXII.    GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA  .     215 

XXIII.  THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE    .  .231 

XXIV.  THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS  .     251 
XXV.    THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS     .  .     260 

XXVI.   AUTUMN,  1912         .         .         .  .     280 

XXVII.   WILD  WINGS  :    A  FAREWELL      .  .     295 

INDEX       .         ,          .          .          .  313 


ADVENTURES   AMONG 
BIRDS 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  BOOK  :    AN  APOLOGY 

THE  book-buyer  in  search  of  something  to  read  before 
making  his  purchase  as  a  rule  opens  a  book  and  glances 
at  a  few  lines  on  the  first  page,  just  to  get  the  flavour  of 
it  and  find  out  whether  or  not  it  suits  his  palate.  The 
title,  we  must  presume,  has  already  attracted  him  as 
indicating  a  subject  which  interests  him.  This  habit 
of  his  gives  me  the  opportunity  of  warning  him  at  the 
very  outset  that  he  will  find  here  no  adventures  of  a 
wild-fowler,  if  that's  what  he  is  seeking ;  no  thrilling 
records  of  long  nights  passed  in  a  punt,  with  a  north 
wind  blowing  and  freezing  him  to  the  marrow  in  spite 
of  his  thick  woollen  clothing  and  long  boots  and  oil- 
skins, and  the  glorious  conclusion  of  the  adventure 
when  he  happily  succeeds  in  sending  a  thousand 
pellets  of  burning  lead  into  an  innumerable  multitude 
of  mallard,  widgeon,  teal,  pochard,  and  pintail ;  how 
for  several  successive  winters  he  repeated  the  opera- 
tion until  the  persecuted  fowl  began  to  diminish  so 
I 


2  ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

greatly  in  numbers  that  he  forsook  that  estuary  or 
haunt  on  the  coast  to  follow  them  elsewhere,  or 
transferred  his  attentions  to  some  other  far-distant 
point,  where  other  wholesale  killers  had  not  been 
before  him.  No,  this  is  not  a  sporting  record,  despite 
the  title,  and  if  long  titles  were  the  fashion  nowadays, 
it  would  have  been  proper  to  call  the  book  "The 
Adventures  of  a  Soul,  sensitive  or  not,  among  the 
feathered  masterpieces  of  creation."  This  would  at 
all  events  have  shown  at  once  whence  the  title  was 
derived,  and  would  have  better  served  to  indicate  the 
nature  of  the  contents. 

It  all  comes  to  this,  that  we  have  here  another  book 
about  birds,  which  demands  some  sort  of  apology. 

In  England,  a  small  country,  we  have  not  too  many 
species — two  or  three  hundred,  let  us  say,  according 
to  the  number  of  visitants  we  include  or  exclude  ;  all 
exceedingly  well  known.  For  birds  are  observed  more 
than  any  other  class  of  creatures,  and  we  are  not  only 
an  observant  but  a  book-writing  people,  and  books  have 
been  written  on  this  subject  since  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth — as  a  fact  the  first  book  (1544)  was  before 
her  time — and  for  the  last  century  have  been  produced 
at  an  ever-increasing  rate  until  now,  when  we  have 
them  turned  out  by  the  dozen  every  year.  All  about 
the  same  few  well-known  birds !  To  many  among  us 
it  seems  that  the  thing  is  being  over-done.  One 
friend  expostulates  thus :  "  What,  another  book  about 
birds  ?  You  have  already  written  several — three  or 
four  or  five-— I  can't  remember  the  number.  I  don't 


THE  BOOK:    AN  APOLOGY  3 

know  much  about  the  subject,  but  I  should  have 
thought  you  had  already  told  us  all  you  know  about 
it.  I  had  hoped  you  had  finished  with  that  subject 
now.  There  are  so  many  others — Man,  for  instance, 
who  is  of  more  account  than  many  sparrows.  Well, 
all  I  can  say  is,  I'm  sorry." 

If  he  had  known  birds,  I  doubt  that  he  would  have 
expressed  regret  at  m)  choice  of  a  subject ;  for 
many  as  are  the  observers  of  birds  and  writers  on 
them  in  the  land,  there  are  yet  a  far  greater  number 
who  do  not  properly  know  them,  and  the  joy  they 
are  or  may  be  to  us. 

The  people  who  discover  birds  are  now  common 
with  us,  and  though  the  story  of  their  discoveries  is 
somewhat  boring,  it  amuses  at  the  same  time.  A  lady 
of  your  acquaintance  tells  you  the  result  of  putting 
some  crumbs  on  a  window-sill — the  sudden  appear- 
ance to  feed  on  the  crumbs  of  a  quaint  fairy-like 
little  bird  which  was  not  a  sparrow,  nor  robin,  nor  any 
of  those  common  ones,  but  a  sparkling  lively  little 
creature  with  a  crest,  all  blue  above  and  yellow  be- 
neath— very  beautiful  to  look  at,  and  fantastic  in  its 
actions.  A  bird  she  has  never  seen  before  though 
all  her  life  has  been  passed  in  the  country.  Was  it 
some  rare  visitor  from  a  distant  land,  where  birds 
have  a  brighter  plumage  and  livelier  habits  than 
ours  ? 

Two  or  three  years  ago  a  literary  friend  wrote  to 
me  from  the  north  of  England,  where  he  had  gone 
for  a  holiday  and  was  staying  at  a  farm,  to  say  that 


4  ADVENTURES  AMONG   BIRDS 

he  wished  me  there,  if  only  to  see  a  wonderful  bird 
that  visited  the  house  every  day.  It  was  probably 
a  species,  he  thought,  confined  to  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  perhaps  never  seen  in  the  south,  and 
he  wanted  very  much  to  know  what  it  was.  As  I 
couldn't  go  to  him  he  would  try  to  describe  it.  Every 
morning  after  breakfast,  when  he  and  his  people  fed 
the  birds  on  the  lawn,  this  strange  species,  to  the 
number  of  a  dozen  or  more,  would  appear  on  the 
scene — a  bird  about  the  size  of  a  thrush  with  a  long 
sharp  yellow  beak,  the  entire  plumage  of  a  very  dark 
purple  and  green  colour,  so  glossy  that  it  sparkled 
like  silver  in  the  sunshine.  They  were  also  sprinkled 
all  over  with  minute  white  and  cream-coloured  spots. 
A  beautiful  bird,  and  very  curious  in  its  behaviour. 
They  would  dart  down  on  the  scraps,  scattering  the 
sparrows  right  and  left,  quarrelling  among  them- 
selves over  the  best  pieces ;  and  then,  when  satisfied, 
they  would  fly  up  to  the  roof  and  climb  and  flit  about 
over  the  tiles  and  on  the  chimneys,  puffing  their 
feathers  out  and  making  all  sorts  of  odd  noises — whist- 
ling, chattering,  tinkling,  and  so  on. 

I  replied  that  the  birds  were  starlings,  and  he  was 
rather  unhappy  about  it,  since  he  had  known  the 
starling  as  a  common  bird  all  his  life,  and  had  imagined 
he  knew  it  too  well  to  take  it  for  a  strange  and  rare 
species.  But  then,  he  confessed,  he  had  never  looked 
closely  at  it ;  he  had  seen  it  in  flocks  in  the  pastures, 
always  at  a  distance  where  it  looks  plain  black. 

If  the  lady  who  discovered  the  blue-tit,  or  nun 


THE  BOOK:    AN  APOLOGY  5 

and  my  friend  who  found  out  the  starling,  would 
extend  their  researches  in  the  feathered  world  they 
would  find  a  hundred  other  species  as  beautiful  in 
colouring  and  delightful  in  their  ways  as  those  two, 
and  some  even  more  so. 

Much,  too,  might  be  said  on  the  subject  of  many 
books  being  written  about  birds.  They  are  not 
necessarily  repetitions.  When  a  writer  of  fact  or 
fiction  puts  his  friends  and  acquaintances  in  a  book, 
as  a  rule  it  makes  a  difference,  a  decline,  in  the  degree 
of  cordiality  in  their  relations.  That  is  only,  of 
course,  when  the  reader  recognizes  himself  in  the 
portrait.  He  may  not  do  so,  portraits  not  always 
being  "  pure  realism,"  as  Mr.  Stanhope  Forbes  says 
they  are.  But  whether  the  reader  recognizes  his  own 
picture  or  not,  the  writer  himself  experiences  a  change 
of  feeling  towards  his  subject.  It  is,  to  put  it  brutally, 
similar  to  that  of  the  boy  towards  the  sucked  orange. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  got  out  of  it.  It  need 
not  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that  the  fictionist  is 
friendly  towards  or  interested  in  his  fellow-creatures 
for  the  sake  of  what  he  can  get  out  of  them — that, 
like  the  portrait-painter,  he  is  on  the  look-out  for  a 
subject.  He  has  no  such  unworthy  motive,  and  the 
change  in  his  feeling  comes  about  in  another  way. 
Having  built  up  his  picture  he  looks  on  it  and  finds 
it  an  improvement,  and  infinitely  more  interesting 
than  the  original,  and  the  old  feeling  inevitably 
changes — it  is  transferred  from  the  man  to  the  picture. 
These  changes  in  feeling  never  occur  in  the  case  of 


6  ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  feathered  friends  we  have  made,  and  find  pleasure 
in  portraying.  We  may  put  them  again  and  again 
in  books  without  experiencing  any  diminution  in 
our  feelings  towards  them.  On  the  contrary,  after 
doing  our  best  we  no  sooner  look  again  on  the  originals 
than  we  see  how  bad  the  portrait  is,  and  would  be 
glad  to  put  it  out  of  sight  and  forget  all  about  it. 
This  lustre,  this  peculiar  grace,  this  expression  which 
I  never  marked  before,  is  not  in  the  picture  I  have 
made ;  come,  let  me  try  again,  though  it  be  but  to 
fail  again,  to  produce  yet  another  painting  fit  only 
for  the  lumber-room. 

After  all  it  does  not  need  a  naturalist  nor  an  artist 
nor  a  poet  to  appreciate  and  be  the  better  for  that 
best  thing  in  a  wild  bird,  that  free,  joyous,  joy- 
giving  nature  felt  by  every  one  of  us.  The  sight  of 
a  wild,  free,  happy  existence,  as  far  as  the  fairies  or 
angels  from  ours,  yet  linked  to  us  by  its  warm  red 
blood,  its  throbbing  human-shaped  heart,  fine  senses, 
and  intelligent  mind,  emotions  that  sway  it  as  ours 
sway  us.  A  relative,  a  "little  sister,"  but  clothed 
for  its  glory  and  joy  in  feathers  that  are  hard  as  flint, 
light  as  air  and  translucent,  and  wings  to  lift  it  above 
the  earth  on  which  we  walk.  Is  there  on  earth  a 
human  being  who  has  not  felt  this  ?  Not  one ! 

I  remember  going  once  to  see  a  member  of  a  county 
council  to  try  to  enlist  his  interest  in  the  subject  of 
bird  protection  for  his  county.  I  was  told  that  he 
was  the  biggest  man  on  the  council  and  had  immense 
weight  with  his  fellow-members  on  account  of  his 


THE  BOOK:    AN  APOLOGY  7 

wealth  and  social  position,  that  without  getting  him 
on  our  side  it  would  be  difficult  to  obtain  an  order. 
He  was  certainly  a  big  man  physically,  a  very  giant 
in  stature,  with  a  tread  like  that  of  an  elephant  when 
he  entered  the  vast  dim  room  into  which  a  servant  had 
conducted  me.  So  huge  a  mass,  so  heavy  and  stolid, 
as  he  stood  there  silently  staring  at  me  out  of  his 
great  expressionless  boiled-gooseberry-coloured  eyes, 
waiting  to  hear  what  I  had  to  say  to  him.  I  said  it, 
and  handed  him  some  papers,  which  I  wanted  him  to 
look  at.  But  he  was  not  listening,  and  when  I  finished 
he  held  out  the  papers  for  me  to  take  them  back. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  have  too  many  calls  on  me — I 
can't  entertain  it."  "  Will  you  kindly  listen,"  I  said, 
then  repeated  it  again,  and  he  muttered  something  and 
taking  the  papers  once  more  inclined  his  head  to  indicate 
that  the  interview  was  over,  and,  thanking  him  for  his 
ready  sympathy,  I  went  my  way  to  some  one  else. 

My  next  visit  was  to  an  enthusiastic  sportsman. 
I  told  him  where  I  had  been,  and  he  exclaimed  that 
it  was  a  mistake,  a  waste  of  time.  "  That  chunk  of 
a  man  is  no  good,"  he  said.  "  If  he  sees  a  roast  goose 
on  the  table  he  knows  what  it  is  and  he  can  distinguish 
it  from  a  roast  turkey,  and  that's  all  he  knows  about 
birds."  Perhaps  it  was  all  he  knew,  from  the  natural 
history  point  of  view  at  all  events ;  yet  even  this 
"  chunk  of  a  man  "  had  doubtless  felt  something  of 
that  common  universal  joy  in  a  bird,  which  makes 
the  bird  so  much  to  us,  for  by-and-by  it  was  with 
his  help  that  the  order  for  the  county  was  obtained. 


8  ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

Here  is  a  little  incident  in  which  we  can  see  just 
the  feeling  a  bird  is  able  to  inspire  in  us.  A  friend 
writes  to  me  :  "I  have  just  heard  from  Miss  Paget, 
who  says  her  most  interesting  news  is  the  visit  of  a 
gold-crested  wren  at  the  Connaught  Hospital.  It 
flew  in  through  one  of  the  open  windows  and  at  once 
became  friendly  with  the  patients,  perching  on  their 
fingers  and  being  fed  by  them  to  their  great  delight. 
Then,  having  cheered  them  for  a  day  and  night, 
it  flew  away  and  has  not  been  seen  since.  The  men 
long  for  its  return,  for  nothing  has  pleased  and  re- 
freshed and  brightened  them  so  much  in  their  weari- 
some hours  as  its  companionship." 

Miss  Rosalind  Paget  is  so  well-known  for  her  work 
in  the  military  hospitals  that  I  hope  she  will  forgive 
me  for  giving  her  name  without  her  permission  when 
relating  this  incident. 

But  the  effect  of  the  bird  is  due  as  much  to  the 
voice  as  to  the  dainty  winged  shape,  the  harmonious 
colouring,  and  the  graceful  easy  motions  in  the  air. 
That  peculiar  aerial  vibrant  penetrative  character  of 
bird-notes  moves  us  as  other  sounds  do  not,  and 
there  are  certain  notes  in  which  these  qualities  are 
intensified  and  sometimes  suggest  an  emotion  common 
to  all  mankind,  which  pierce  to  the  listener's  heart, 
whatever  his  race  or  country  may  be  or  his  character 
or  pursuits  in  life. 

I  here  recall  an  incident  of  my  young  days  in  a 
far  land,  less  civilized  than  ours.  I  had  a  neighbour 
in  my  home  for  whom  I  had  little  love.  He  was  a 


THE  BOOK:    AN  APOLOGY  9 

greedy  rascal,  a  petty  rural  magistrate  with  an  itching 
palm,  and  if  justice  was  required  at  his  hands  it  had 
to  be  bought  with  money  like  any  other  commodity. 
One  summer  afternoon  he  rode  over  to  my  home  and 
asked  me  to  go  for  a  walk  with  him  by  the  river. 
It  was  a  warm  brilliant  day  in  early  autumn,  and 
when  we  had  walked  about  a  couple  of  miles  along 
the  bank  to  a  spot  where  the  stream  was  about  fifty 
yards  wide,  we  sat  down  on  the  dry  grass  under  a 
large  red  willow.  A  flock  of  birds  was  in  the  tree — a 
species  of  a  most  loquacious  kind — but  our  approach 
had  made  them  silent.  Not  the  faintest  chirp  fell 
from  the  branches  that  had  been  full  of  their  musical 
jangle  a  few  minutes  before.  It  was  a  species  of 
troupial,  a  starling-like  bird  of  social  habits,  only 
larger  than  our  starling,  with  glossy  olive-brown 
plumage  and  brilliant  yellow  breast.  Pecho  amarillo 
(yellow  breast)  is  its  vernacular  name.  Now  as  soon 
as  we  had  settled  comfortably  on  the  grass  the  entire 
flock,  of  thirty  or  forty  birds,  sprang  up  into  the  air, 
going  up  out  of  the  foliage  like  a  fountain,  then 
suddenly  they  all  together  dropped  down,  and  sweep- 
ing by  us  over  the  water  burst  into  a  storm  of  loud 
ringing  jubilant  cries  and  liquid  notes.  My  com- 
panion uttered  a  sudden  strange  harsh  discordant 
laugh,  and  turning  away  his  sharp  dry  fox-like  face, 
too  late  to  hide  the  sudden  moisture  I  had  seen  in 
his  eyes,  he  exclaimed  with  savage  emphasis  on  the 
first  word—"  Curse  the  little  birds— how  glad  they 
are !  " 


io          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

That  was  his  way  of  blessing  them.  He  was  a 
hardened  rascal,  utterly  bad,  feared  and  hated  by 
the  poor,  despised  by  his  equals ;  yet  the  sight  and 
sound  of  that  merry  company,  its  sudden  outburst 
of  glorious  joy,  had  wrought  an  instantaneous  change 
in  him  that  was  like  a  miracle,  and  for  a  moment  he 
was  no  longer  himself,  but  what  he  had  been  in  the 
past,  in  some  unimaginably  remote  period  of  his 
existence,  a  pure-hearted  child,  capable  of  a  glad, 
beautiful  emotion  and  of  tears. 

I  will  remark  in  passing  that  the  actual  words  of 
his  blessing  are  hardly  translatable ;  for  he  didn't 
call  them  "little  birds,"  but  addressed  them  affec- 
tionately as  fellow-mortals  of  diminutive  size — "  little 
children  of  a  thousand  unvirtuous  mothers "  was 
more  nearly  his  expression. 

One  is  reminded  of  a  famous  historical  incident — 
of  the  exclamation  of  the  dying  Garibaldi,  when  a 
small  bird  of  unrecorded  species  alighted  for  a  moment 
on  the  ledge  of  his  open  window,  and  burst  out 
into  a  lively  twittering  song.  "  Quanto  e  allegro  1  " 
murmured  the  old  passing  fighter.  The  exclamation 
would  have  seemed  quite  natural  on  the  lips  of  a 
dying  Englishman,  but  how  strange  on  his !  Does 
it  find  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  the  people  he  liberated, 
who  appreciate  a  bird  not  for  its  soul-gladdening 
voice  but  for  its  flavour  ?  It  can  only  be  supposed 
that  Garibaldi  during  his  furious  fighting  years  in 
the  Argentine  Confederation,  in  the  forties  of  the 
last  century,  had  become  in  some  ways  de-Italianized 


THE  BOOK:  AN  APOLOGY  11 

— that  he  had  been  infected  with  the  friendly  feeling 
towards  birds  of  his  fellow  "  pirates  and  ruffians  " 
as  they  were  called,  and  of  the  people  generally,  from 
his  enemy  the  Dictator  Rosas  himself,  the  "  Nero 
of  South  America  "  down  to  the  poorest  gaucho  in 
the  land.  They,  the  fighters,  were  mostly  ruffians 
in  those  days  in  a  country  where  revolution  (with 
atrocities)  was  endemic,  but  they  did  not  kill  or 
persecute  "  God's  little  birds  "  as  they  called  them. 
The  foreigners  who  did  such  things  were  regarded 
with  contempt. 

Garibaldi  was  beaten  again  and  again,  and  finally 
driven  from  the  Plate  by  a  better  fighter — an  English- 
man of  the  name  of  Brown ;  but  the  beaten  "  pirate  " 
lived  to  liberate  his  own  country  and  to  see  his  people 
going  out  annually  in  tens  of  thousands  to  settle  in  the 
land  where  he  had  fought  and  lost.  How  melancholy 
to  think  that  from  the  bird-lover's  point  of  view  they 
have  been  a  curse  to  it,  that,  but  for  the  wealthy 
native  and  English  landowners  who  are  able  to  give 
some  protection  to  wild  life  on  their  estates,  the 
detestable  swarm  of  aliens  would  have  made  the  land 
they  have  populated  as  birdless  as  their  native  Italy. 


CHAPTER  II 
CARDINAL  :  THE  STORY  OF  MY  FIRST  CAGED  BIRD 

A  ONCE  familiar  but  long  unheard  sound  coming 
unexpectedly  to  us  will  sometimes  affect  the  mind 
as  it  is  occasionally  affected  through  the  sense  of 
smell,  restoring  a  past  scene  and  state  so  vividly  that 
it  is  less  like  a  memory  than  a  vision.  It  is  indeed 
more  than  a  vision,  seeing  that  this  is  an  illusion, 
something  apparently  beheld  with  the  outer  or 
physical  eyes ;  the  other  is  a  transformation,  a  return 
to  that  state — that  forgotten  self — which  was  lost 
for  ever,  yet  is  ours  again  ;  and  for  a  glorious  moment 
we  are  what  we  were  in  some  distant  place,  some 
long-vanished  time,  in  age  and  freshness  of  feeling,  in 
the  brilliance  of  our  senses,  our  wonder  and  delight 
at  this  visible  world. 

Recently  I  had  an  experience  of  that  kind  on  hearing 
a  loud  glad  bird-note  or  call  from  overhead  when 
walking  in  a  London  West-End  thoroughfare.  It 
made  me  start  and  stand  still ;  when,  casting  up 
my  eyes,  I  caught  sight  of  the  bird  in  its  cage,  hanging 
outside  a  first-floor  window.  It  was  the  beautiful 
cardinal  of  many  memories. 

This  is  a  bird  of  the  finch  family  of  southern  South 
America — about  the  size  of  a  starling,  but  more 

12 


CARDINAL  13 

gracefully  shaped,  with  a  longer  tail ;  the  whole 
upper  plumage  clear  blue-grey,  the  underparts  pure 
white ;  the  face,  throat,  and  a  high  pointed  crest 
an  intense  brilliant  scarlet. 

It  had  actually  seemed  to  me  at  the  moment  of 
hearing,  then  of  seeing  it,  that  the  bird  had  recog- 
nised me  as  one  from  the  same  distant  country — that 
its  loud  call  was  a  glad  greeting  to  a  fellow-exile  seen 
by  chance  in  a  London  thoroughfare.  It  was  even 
more  than  that :  this  was  my  own  bird,  dead  so 
many,  many  years,  living  again,  knowing  me  again 
so  far  from  home,  in  spite  of  all  the  changes  that 
time  had  wrought  in  me.  And  he,  my  own  cardinal, 
the  first  cardinal  I  ever  knew,  remembered  it  all 
even  as  I  did — all  the  little  incidents  of  our  life 
together ;  the  whole  history  was  in  both  our  minds 
at  that  same  moment  of  recognition. 

I  was  a  boy,  not  yet  eight  years  old,  when  my  mother 
took  me  on  one  of  her  yearly  visits  to  Buenos  Ayres. 
It  was  a  very  long  day's  journey  for  us  in  those  pre- 
railroad  times ;  for,  great  and  prosperous  as  that 
city  and  republic  now  are,  it  was  not  so  then,  when 
the  people  were  divided,  calling  themselves  Reds  and 
Whites  (or  Blues),  and  were  occupied  in  cutting  one 
another's  throats. 

In  Buenos  Ayres  we  stayed  at  the  house  of  an 
English  missionary  clergyman,  in  a  street  near  the 
waterside.  He  was  a  friend  of  my  parents  and  used 
to  come  out  with  his  family  to  us  in  the  summer,  and 
in  return  my  mother  made  his  house  her  home  for  a 


i4          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

month  or  so  in  winter.  This  was  my  first  visit,  and 
I  remember  the  house  was  like  a  luxurious  palace  to 
my  simple  mind  accustomed  to  rude  surroundings. 
It  had  a  large  paved  courtyard,  with  ornamental 
shrubs  and  orange  and  lemon  trees  growing  in  it, 
and  many  prettily  decorated  rooms ;  also  a  long  passage 
or  balcony  at  the  back,  and,  at  its  far  end,  facing  the 
balcony,  the  door  of  the  study.  This  balcony  at 
the  back  had  an  irresistible  attraction  for  me,  for  on 
the  wall  were  hung  many  cages  containing  beautiful 
birds,  some  unknown  to  me.  There  were  c^veral 
canaries,  a  European  goldfinch,  and  other  kinds ; 
but  the  bird  that  specially  attracted  me  was  a  cardinal 
in  fine  plumage,  with  a  loud,  glad,  musical  call-note 
— just  such  a  note  as  that  with  which  the  bird  in  a 
London  thoroughfare  had  pierced  my  heart.  But  it 
did  not  sing,  and  I  was  told  that  it  had  no  song  except 
that  one  note,  or  not  more  than  two  or  three  notes, 
and  that  it  was  kept  solely  for  its  beauty.  To  me 
it  was  certainly  most  beautiful. 

Every  day  during  our  six  or  seven  weeks'  visit  I 
used  to  steal  out  to  the  balcony  and  stand  by  the 
hour  watching  the  birds,  above  all  the  cardinal  with 
his  splendid  scarlet  crest,  thinking  of  the  joy  it  would 
be  to  possess  such  a  bird.  But  though  I  could  not 
keep  away  from  the  spot,  I  was  always  ill  at  ease  when 
there,  always  glancing  apprehensively  at  the  closed 
door  at  the  end — for  it  was  a  glass  door,  and  in  his 
study  behind  it  the  clergyman,  a  grave  studious  man, 
was  sitting  over  his  books.  It  made  me  tremble  to 


CARDINAL  15 

think  that,  though  invisible  to  me  in  that  dim  interior, 
he  would  be  able  to  see  me  through  the  glass,  and, 
worse  still,  that  at  any  moment  he  might  throw  open 
the  door  and  come  out  to  catch  me  gazing  at  his 
birds.  Nor  was  this  feeling  strange  in  the  circum- 
stances, for  I  was  a  timid,  somewhat  sensitive  little 
boy,  and  he  a  very  big  stern  man  with  a  large  clean- 
shaved  colourless  face  that  had  no  friendliness  in  it ; 
nor  could  I  forget  an  unhappy  incident  which  oc- 
curred during  his  visit  to  us  in  the  country  more 
than  half  a  year  before.  One  day,  rushing  in,  I 
stumbled  in  the  verandah  and  struck  my  head  against 
the  door-handle,  and,  falling  down,  was  lying  on  the 
floor  crying  loudly  with  the  pain,  when  the  big  stern 
man  came  on  the  scene. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  I've  hit  my  head  on  the  door  and  it  hurts 
me  so  !  "  I  sobbed. 

"  Does  it  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  Well, 
it  doesn't  hurt  me,"  and,  stepping  over  me,  he  went  in. 

What  wonder  that  I  was  apprehensive,  would 
shrink  almost  in  terror,  when  by  chance  he  came 
suddenly  out  to  find  me  there,  and,  after  staring  or 
glaring  at  me  through  his  gold-rimmed  glasses  for 
a  few  moments,  would  pass  me  by  without  a  word  or 
smile.  How  strange,  how  unnatural,  it  seemed  that 
this  man  I  feared  and  hated  should  be  a  lover  of 
birds  and  the  owner  of  that  precious  cardinal ! 

The  long  visit  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and,  glad 
to  return  to  the  birds  I  had  left — to  the  purple 


16          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

cow-birds,  the  yellow-breasted  and  the  crimson- 
breasted  troupials,  the  tyrant  birds,  the  innumerable 
sweet-voiced  little  crested  song-sparrows,  and  a 
hundred  more — yet  sad  to  leave  the  cardinal  which 
I  admired  and  had  grown  to  love  above  all  birds,  I 
was  taken  back  to  my  distant  home  on  the  great  green 
plains.  So  passed  the  winter,  and  the  swallow  returned 
and  the  peach-trees  blossomed  once  more ;  the  long, 
long  dry  hot  summer  season  followed ;  then  autumn 
— the  three  beautiful  months  of  March,  April,  and 
May,  when  the  sunshine  was  soft  and  we  were  among 
the  trees,  feasting  on  ripe  peaches  every  day  and 
all  day  long. 

Then  again  winter  and  the  annual  visit  to  the 
distant  town ;  but  none  of  us  children  were  taken 
on  this  occasion.  My  mother's  return  after  one  of 
these  long  absences  was  always  a  great  joy  and  festival 
to  us  children.  To  have  her  with  us  again,  and  the 
toys  and  the  books  and  delicious  things  she  brought 
us,  made  us  wild  with  happiness ;  and  on  this  occasion 
she  brought  me  something  compared  with  which  all 
the  other  gifts — all  the  gifts  I  had  ever  received  in 
my  life  were  as  nothing.  She  had  a  large  object 
covered  from  sight  with  a  shawl,  and,  drawing  me 
to  her  side,  asked  me  if  I  remembered  my  visit  to 
the  city  over  a  year  ago,  and  how  the  birds  at  the 
parsonage  had  attracted  me  ?  Well,  our  friend  the 
clergyman,  she  went  on  to  say,  had  gone  back  to 
his  own  country  and  would  never  return.  His  wife, 
who  was  a  very  gentle,  sweet  woman,  had  been  my 


CARDINAL  17 

mother's  dearest  friend,  so  that  she  could  hardly 
speak  of  her  loss  without  tears.  Before  going  away 
he  distributed  his  birds  among  his  closest  friends. 
He  was  anxious  that  every  bird  should  have  an  owner 
who  would  love  it  as  much  as  he  had  loved  it  himself 
and  tend  it  as  carefully ;  and  remembering  how  he 
had  observed  me  day  after  day  watching  the  cardinal, 
he  thought  that  he  could  not  leave  it  in  better  hands 
than  mine.  And  here  was  the  bird  in  its  big  cage  ! 

The  cardinal  was  mine !  How  could  I  believe  it, 
even  when  I  pulled  the  shawl  off  and  saw  the  beautiful 
creature  once  more  and  heard  the  loud  note !  The 
gift  of  that  bird  from  the  stern  ice-cold  man  who  had 
looked  at  me  as  if  he  hated  me,  even  as  I  had  certainly 
hated  him,  now  seemed  the  most  wonderful  thing  which 
had  ever  happened  in  the  world. 

It  was  a  blissful  time  for  me  during  that  late  winter 
season,  when  I  lived  for  the  bird ;  then,  as  the  days 
grew  longer  and  brighter  with  the  return  of  the  sun, 
I  was  happier  every  day  to  see  my  cardinal's  increasing 
delight  in  his  new  surroundings.  It  was  certainly  a 
great  and  marvellous  change  for  him.  The  cardinals 
are  taken  as  fledgelings  from  the  nests  in  forests  on 
the  upper  waters  of  the  Plata  river,  and  reared  by 
hand  by  the  natives,  then  sent  down  to  the  bird- 
dealers  in  Buenos  Ayres ;  so  that  my  bird  had  practi- 
cally known  only  a  town  life,  and  was  now  in  a  world 
of  greenest  grass  and  foliage,  wide  blue  skies,  and 
brightest  sunshine  for  the  first  time.  By  day  his 
cage  was  hung  under  the  grape-vines  outside  the 
2 


1 8          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

veranda ;  there  the  warm  fragrant  wind  blew  on 
him  and  the  sun  shone  down  through  the  translucent 
red  and  green  young  vine-leaves.  He  was  mad  with 
excess  of  joy,  hopping  wildly  about  in  his  cage,  calling 
loudly  in  response  to  the  wild  birds  in  the  trees,  and 
from  time  to  time  bursting  out  in  song  :  not  the 
three  or  four  to  half  a  dozen  notes  the  cardinal  usually 
emits,  but  a  continuous  torrent,  like  the  soaring 
lark's,  so  that  those  who  heard  it  marvelled  and 
exclaimed  that  they  had  never  known  a  cardinal  with 
such  a  song.  I  can  say  for  myself  that  I  have,  since 
then,  listened  to  the  singing  of  hundreds  of  cardinals, 
both  wild  and  caged,  and  never  heard  one  with  a 
song  so  passionate  and  sustained. 

So  it  went  on  from  day  to  day,  until  the  vine- 
leaves,  grown  large,  spread  a  green  roof  to  keep  the 
hot  sun  from  him — a  light  roof  of  leaves  which,  stirred 
by  the  wind,  still  let  the  sparkling  sunbeams  fall 
through  to  enliven  him,  while  outside  the  sheltering 
vines  the  bright  world  was  all  before  him.  If  any 
person,  even  the  wisest,  had  then  told  me  that  my 
cardinal  was  not  the  happiest  bird  in  the  world — that 
not  being  free  to  fly  he  could  not  be  as  happy  as 
others — I  should  not  have  believed  it ;  consequently 
it  came  as  a  shock  to  me  when  one  day  I  discovered 
the  cage  empty — that  my  cardinal  had  made  his 
escape  !  The  cage,  as  I  have  said,  was  large,  and  the 
wires  were  so  far  apart  that  a  bird  the  size  of  a  linnet 
or  siskin  could  not  have  been  confined  in  it;  but 
for  the  larger  cardinal  it  was  a  safe  prison.  Unfor- 


CARDINAL  19 

tunately  one  of  the  wires  had  become  loose — perhaps 
the  bird  had  loosened  it — and  by  working  at  it  he  had 
succeeded  in  bending  it  and  finally  had  managed  to 
squeeze  through  and  make  his  escape.  Running  out 
into  the  plantation  I  was  soon  apprised  of  his  where- 
abouts by  his  loud  call-note ;  but  though  he  could 
not  fly,  but  only  hop  and  flutter  from  branch  to 
branch — his  wings  never  having  been  exercised — he 
refused  to  be  caught.  I  was  advised  to  wait  until 
he  was  hungry,  then  to  try  him  with  the  cage.  This 
I  did,  and,  taking  the  cage,  placed  it  on  the  ground 
under  the  trees  and  retired  a  few  paces,  holding  it 
open  by  means  of  a  string  which  when  released  would 
cause  the  door  to  fly  to.  He  became  greatly  excited 
on  seeing  the  cage,  and  being  very  hungry  soon  came 
down  to  the  ground  and,  to  my  joy,  hopped  up  to 
it.  But  he  did  not  go  in  :  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
was  considering  the  matter,  if  the  state  he  was  in 
of  being  pulled  in  opposite  directions  by  two  equally 
importunate  impulses  may  be  so  described.  "  Must 
I  go  in  and  satisfy  my  hunger — and  live  in  prison  ;  or 
stay  out  and  keep  my  freedom  and  go  hungry  ?  " 
He  stood  at  the  door  of  the  cage,  looking  in  at  the 
seed,  then  turned  and  looked  at  me  and  at  the 
trees,  then  looked  at  the  seed  again,  and  raised  and 
lowered  his  shining  crest  and  flirted  his  wings  and 
tail,  and  was  excited  and  in  two  minds  and  a 
quandary ;  finally,  after  taking  one  more  look  at 
the  tempting  seed,  he  deliberately  flew  or  fluttered  up 
to  the  nearest  branch,  then  to  another,  and  so  on, 


20          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

till  he  had  gone  to  the,  very  top  of  the  tree,  as  if 
to  get  as  far  from  the  tempting  cage  as  he  could  ! 

It  was  a  great  disappointment,  and  I  now  deter- 
mined to  hunt  him  down  ;  for  it  was  late  in  the  day, 
and  he  was  not  a  cunning  wild  bird  to  save  himself 
from  rats  and  owls  and  black  and  yellow  opossums  and 
other  subtle  enemies  who  would  come  presently  on 
the  scene.  I  hunted  him  from  the  first  tree  on  to 
the  next,  then  to  another,  until  I  had  driven  him 
out  of  the  plantation  to  an  open  place,  where  he 
fluttered  over  the  surface  until  he  came  to  the  bank 
of  the  huge  ditch  or  foss,  about  twelve  feet  deep  and 
half  as  wide  as  the  Regent's  Park  canal.  He  would 
drop  into  it,  I  thought,  and  I  would  then  be  able  to 
capture  him ;  but  after  a  moment's  rest  on  the  bank 
he  rose  and  succeeded  in  flying  across,  pitching  on 
the  other  side.  "  Now  I  have  him  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
and,  getting  over  the  foss,  I  was  quickly  in  hot  pursuit 
after  him ;  for  outside  the  foss  the  earth  spread  out 
level  and  treeless,  with  nothing  but  grass  and  giant 
thistles  growing  on  it.  But  his  wings  were  now 
getting  stronger  with  exercise,  and  he  led  me  on 
and  on  for  about  a  mile,  then  disappeared  in  a  clump 
of  giant  thistles,  growing  on  a  warren  or  village  of 
the  vizcachas — the  vizcacha  being  a  big  rodent  that 
lives  in  communities  in  a  dozen  or  twenty  huge  bur- 
rows, their  mouths  placed  close  together.  He  had 
escaped  down  one  of  these  holes,  and  I  waited  in  vain 
for  him  to  come  out,  and  in  the  end  was  compelled  to 
go  home  without  him. 


CARDINAL  21 

I  don't  know  if  I  slept  that  night,  but  I  was  up 
and  out  an  hour  before  sunrise,  and,  taking  the  cage, 
set  out  to  look  for  him,  with  little  hope  of  finding 
him,  for  there  were  foxes  in  that  place — a  family  of 
cubs  which  I  had  seen — and,  worse  still,  the  large 
blood-thirsty  black  weasels  of  that  country.  But  no 
sooner  was  I  at  the  spot  where  I  had  lost  him  than 
I  was  greeted  with  his  loud  note.  And  there  he  was, 
hopping  out  from  among  the  thistles,  a  most  forlorn- 
looking  object,  his  plumage  wet  and  draggled,  and 
his  feet  thickly  covered  with  wet  clay !  And  he  was 
glad  to  see  me !  As  soon  as  I  put  the  cage  down 
he  came  straight  to  it  and,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  hopped  in  and  began  feasting  on  the 
seed. 

It  was  a  happy  ending.  My  bird  had  had  a  lesson 
which  he  would  not  forget ;  there  would  be  no  more 
tugging  at  the  wires,  nor  would  he  ever  wish  to  be 
free  again.  So  I  imagined.  But  I  was  wrong.  From 
that  time  the  bird's  disposition  was  changed  :  ever 
in  a  restless  anxious  state,  he  would  flit  from  side  to 
side  of  his  cage,  chirping  loudly,  but  never  singing — 
never  one  note ;  the  gladness  that  had  made  him 
sing  so  wonderfully  had  quite  gone  out  of  him.  And 
invariably,  after  hopping  about  for  a  few  moments, 
he  would  go  back  to  the  wire  which  had  been  loosened 
and  bent — the  one  weak  spot  which  was  now  repaired 
— and  tug  at  and  shake  it  again.  And  at  last,  greatly 
to  my  surprise,  he  actually  succeeded  in  bending  the 
same  wire  once  more  and  making  his  escape  ! 


22          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

Once  more  I  went  to  look  for  him  with  the  cage  in 
my  hand,  but  when  I  found  him  he  refused  to  be 
tempted.  I  left  him  for  a  day  to  starve,  then  tried 
him  again ;  and  then  again  many  and  many  times 
on  many  following  days,  for  he  was  now  much  too 
strong  on  the  wing  to  be  hunted  down  ;  but  though 
he  invariably  greeted  and  appeared  to  welcome  me 
with  his  loud  chirp,  he  refused  to  come  down,  and 
after  excitedly  hailing  me  and  flirting  his  feathers  for 
a  few  moments  he  would  fly  away. 

Gradually  I  grew  reconciled  to  my  loss,  for,  though 
no  longer  my  captive — my  own  bird — he  was  near 
me,  living  in  the  plantation  and  frequently  seen. 
Often  and  often,  at  intervals  of  a  few  or  of  many 
days,  when  my  lost,  yet  not  wholly  lost,  cardinal 
was  not  in  my  mind,  I  would  come  upon  him,  some- 
times out  on  the  plain,  feeding  with  a  flock  of  purple 
cow-birds,  or  yellow-breasted  troupials,  or  some  other 
species ;  and  when  they  would  all  rise  up  and  fly 
away  at  my  approach,  he  alone,  after  going  a  little 
distance  with  them,  would  drop  out  of  the  crowd  and 
pitch  .on  a  stalk  or  thistle-bush,  just,  as  it  would 
appear,  to  look  at  me  and  hail  me  with  his  loud  note 
— to  say  that  he  remembered  me  still ;  then  off  he 
would  fly  after  the  others. 

That  little  action  of  his  went  far  to  reconcile  me 
to  his  loss— to  endear  him  still  more  to  me,  changing 
my  boyish  bitterness  to  a  new  and  strange  kind  of 
delight  in  his  happiness. 

But  the  end  of  the  story  is  not  yet  :   even  at  this 


CARDINAL  23 

distance,  after  so  many  changing  and  hardening  years, 
I  experience  a  certain  reluctance  or  heaviness  of 
heart  in  telling  it. 

The  warm  bright  months  went  by  and  it  was 
winter  again — the  cold  season  from  May  to  August, 
when  the  trees  are  bare,  the  rainy  south  wind  blows, 
and  there  are  frosty  nights,  frosts  that  would  some- 
times last  all  day  or  even  several  days.  Then  it  was 
that  I  missed  my  bird  and  wondered  often  what  had 
become  of  him.  Had  he  too  flown  north  to  a  warmer 
country  with  the  swallows  and  other  migrants  ? 
It  could  not  be  believed.  But  he  was  no  longer  in 
the  plantation — that  little  sheltering  island  of  trees 
in  the  level  grassy  sea-like  plain  ;  and  I  should  never 
see  him  more  or  know  what  his  fate  had  been. 

One  day,  in  August,  the  men  employed  about 
the  place  were  engaged  in  a  grand  annual  campaign 
against  the  rats — a  sort  of  spring-cleaning  in  and 
out  of  doors.  The  shelter  of  the  huge  old  foss,  and 
of  the  trees  and  thickets,  wood-piles,  many  out- 
buildings and  barns  full  of  raw  or  untanned  hides, 
attracted  numbers  of  these  unpleasant  little  beasts 
and  made  it  a  sort  of  rats'  metropolis ;  and  it  was 
usual  to  clear  them  out  in  early  spring  before  the 
new  grass  and  herbage  sprang  up  and  covered  the 
ground.  They  were  suffocated  with  smoke,  made 
deadly  with  brimstone  and  tobacco,  pumped  into 
their  holes.  I  was  standing  by  one  of  the  men  who 
was  opening  one  of  the  runs  after  the  smoking  process, 
when  I  caught  sight  of  a  gleam  of  scarlet  colour  in  a 


24          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

heap  of  straw  and  rubbish  he  was  turning  over  with 
his  spade,  and,  jumping  down,  I  picked  up  the  shining 
red  object.  It  was  my  lost  cardinal's  crest !  And 
there  too  were  his  grey  wing  and  tail  feathers,  white 
feathers  from  his  breast,  and  even  some  of  his  bones. 
Alas !  he  had  found  it  too  cold  to  roost  in  the  naked 
trees  in  the  cold  wind  and  rain,  and,  seeking  a  more 
sheltered  roosting-place  on  the  ground,  had  been 
caught  and  carried  into  its  den  and  devoured  by  a  rat. 
I  experienced  a  second  and  greater  grief  at  his 
miserable  end — a  feeling  so  poignant  that  the  memory 
has  endured  till  now.  For  he  was  my  loved  cardinal 
— my  first  caged  bird.  And  he  was  also  my  last.  I 
could  have  no  other,  the  lesson  he  had  taught  me 
having  sunk  into  my  heart — the  knowledge  that  to  a 
bird  too  the  world  is  very  beautiful  and  liberty  very 
sweet.  I  could  even  rejoice,  when  time  had  softened 
my  first  keen  sorrow,  that  my  cardinal  had  succeeded 
in  making  his  escape,  since  at  the  last  he  had  experi- 
enced those  miraculous  months  of  joyous  existence, 
living  the  true  bird-life  for  which  nature  had  fashioned 
and  fitted  him.  In  all  the  years  of  his  captivity  he 
could  never  have  known  such  a  happiness,  nor  can 
any  caged  bird  know  it,  however  loudly  and  sweetly 
it  may  sing  to  win  a  lump  of  sugar  or  a  sprig  of  ground- 
sel from  his  tender-hearted  keeper  and  delude  him 
with  the  idea  that  it  is  well  with  his  prisoner — that 
no  injustice  has  been  done. 


CHAPTER  III 

WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA,  WHERE  WILD  GEESE 
CONGREGATE 

THERE  are  few  places  in  England  where  you  can  get 
so  much  wildness  and  desolation  of  sea  and  sand-hills, 
wood,  green  marsh,  and  grey  saltings  as  at  Wells,  in 
Norfolk,  the  small  old  red-brick  town,  a  mile  and  a 
quarter  from  the  beach,  with  a  green  embankment 
lying  across  the  intervening  marsh  connecting  town 
and  sea.  Here  you  can  have  it  all  in  the  space  of  a 
half-day's  prowl  or  saunter — I  cannot  say  "  walk," 
seeing  that  I  am  as  often  standing  or  sitting  still  as 
in  motion.  The  little  village-like  town  in  its  quietude 
and  sense  of  remoteness  from  the  world  is  itself  a 
restful  place  to  be  in ;  going  out  you  have  on  the 
land  side  the  quiet  green  Norfolk  country  of  winding 
roads  and  lanes,  old  farm-houses  and  small  red  villages 
which  appear  almost  deserted.  As  I  passed  through 
one  the  other  day,  the  thought  was  in  my  mind  that 
in  this  village  not  one  inhabitant  remained,  when  all 
at  once  I  caught  sight  of  a  very  old  man,  shrunk  and 
lean  and  grey,  standing  in  a  cottage  garden  behind 
its  grey  palings.  His  clothes,  too,  like  his  hair  and 
face,  were  a  dull  grey,  so  like  the  hue  of  the  old 


26          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

weathered  and  lichen-stained  wood  of  the  palings 
as  to  make  him  almost  invisible.  It  was  an  instance  of 
protective  resemblance  in  the  human  species.  He 
was  standing  motionless,  leaning  on  his  stick,  peering 
at  me  out  of  his  pale  dim  eyes  as  if  astonished  at  the 
sight  of  a  stranger  in  that  lonely  place. 

But  I  love  the  solitariness  on  the  side  towards  the 
sea  best,  the  green  marsh  extending  to  Holkham  on 
your  left  hand,  once  a  salt  flat  inundated  by  the  sea 
but  long  reclaimed  by  the  making  of  that  same  green 
bank  I  have  mentioned — the  causeway  which  con- 
nects Wells  with  the  beach.  On  the  right  side  of  this 
bank  is  the  estuary  by  which  small  ships  may  creep 
up  to  the  town  at  high  tide,  and  the  immense  grey 
saltings  extending  miles  and  miles  away  to  Blakeney. 
Between  the  flats  and  the  sea  are  the  sand-hills,  rough 
with  grey  marram  grass ;  then  the  beach,  and,  if 
the  tide  is  up,  the  sea  ;  but  when  the  water  is  out, 
you  look  across  miles  of  smooth  and  ribbed  sands, 
with  no  life  visible  on  its  desolate  expanse  except  a 
troop  of  gulls  resting  in  a  long  white  line,  and  very 
far  out  a  few  men  and  boys  digging  for  bait  in  the 
sand,  looking  no  bigger  than  crows  at  that  distance. 
Beyond  the  line  of  white  gulls  and  the  widely  scattered 
and  diminished  human  forms  is  the  silvery-grey  line 
of  the  sea,  with  perhaps  a  sail  or  two  faintly  visible 
on  the  horizon. 

What  more  could  any  one  desire  ? — what  could  add 
to  the  fascinations  of  such  a  retreat  ?  A  wood ! 
Wejl,  we  have  that  too,  a  dark  pine  wood  growing  on 


WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA  27 

the  slopes  of  the  sand-hills  on  the  land  side  and  ex- 
tending from  the  Wells  embankment  to  Holkham  a 
couple  of  miles  away.  Many  an  hour  in  the  late 
afternoons  and  evenings  have  I  spent  in  that  perfect 
solitude  listening  to  the  sea-wind  in  the  pines  when 
the  sound  of  wind  and  sea  were  one,  and  finding  the 
deep  shelter  warm  and  grateful  after  a  long  ramble 
over  the  sands  and  dunes  and  marshes. 

For  I  go  not  to  Wells  in  "  the  season,"  when  days 
are  long  and  the  sun  is  hot,  the  scattering  time  for 
all  those  who  live  "  too  thick,"  when  even  into  this 
remote  spot  drift  a  few  of  the  pale  town-people  with 
books  in  their  pockets  and  cameras  and  green  butterfly- 
nets  in  their  hands.  The  wild  geese  are  not  there 
then,  they  are  away  breeding  in  the  Siberian  tundra 
or  Spitzbergen ;  and  for  that  wild  exhilarating 
clangour  which  they  make  when  passing  overhead  to 
and  from  the  sea,  and  for  the  era-era  of  the  hooded 
crow — his  harsh  war-cry  and  curse  on  everything—- 
you hear  lark  and  titlark,  dunnock  and  wren,  with 
the  other  members  of  the  "  feathered  choir  "  even  as 
in  all  other  green  places. 

Autumn  and  winter  is  my  time,  and  at  no  other 
place  in  the  kingdom  can  the  grey  geese  be  seen  to 
better  advantage,  despite  the  fact  that  to  this  spot 
the  wild-fowler  comes  annually  in  numbers,  and  that 
many  of  the  natives,  even  the  poorest,  possess  a  gun 
and  are  always  on  the  look-out  for  geese.  The  birds 
come  in  undiminished  numbers,  probably  because 
they  find  here  the  one  green  spot  on  which  they 


28          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

can  repose  in  comparative  safety.  This  spot  is  the 
reclaimed  marsh  or  meadowland  which  I  have  men- 
tioned as  lying  between  the  Wells  embankment  and 
Holkham.  It  is  not  a  perfect  sanctuary,  since  the 
geese  are  shot  a  few  times  during  the  winter  by  the 
lord  of  the  manor  and  his  guests ;  but  the  dangerous 
days  are  so  few  and  far  between  at  this  place  that 
the  geese  have  come  to  regard  it  as  a  safe  refuge,  and 
are  accustomed  to  congregate  daily  in  large  numbers, 
two  or  three  thousand  or  more  being  often  seen 
together. 

How  intelligent  these  noble  birds  are  !  The  whole 
human  population  of  the  country  round  are  against 
them,  waiting  for  them  morning  and  evening  in  various 
hiding-places  to  shoot  them  down  as  they  pass  over- 
head to  and  from  the  sea.  This  incessant  persecution 
had  made  them  the  wariest  of  all  wild  birds  and  most 
difficult  to  approach.  Yet  here,  where  their  enemies 
are  most  numerous,  where  they  keep  the  sharpest 
watch  when  feeding  and  roosting,  and  when  on  the 
wing  fly  high  to  keep  out  of  range  of  those  who  lie 
in  wait  for  them — on  this  one  green  spot  they  drop 
down  to  rest  and  feed  by  the  hour  and  pay  but  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  human  form  and  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  human  life  !  This  camping-ground  is 
backed  by  the  sand-hills  and  pine  wood ;  on  the 
opposite  side  is  the  coast  road  and  sight  of  people 
driving  and  walking,  and  nearer  still  the  line  of  the 
railway  from  Lynn  to  WellsN  The  marsh,  too,  is 
fed  by  cattle  and  horses  and  sheep ;  there  is  the 


WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA  29 

shepherd  with  his  dog,  and  others  from  the  farms 
going  about ;  but  the  geese  do  not  heed  them,  nor 
do  they  show  alarm  when  a  train  rushes  past  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  away  puffing  out  steam  and  making 
a  mighty  noise  on  that  flat  moist  earth.  They  have 
made  the  discovery  that  there  is  no  harm  in  it  not- 
withstanding its  huge  size,  its  noise  and  swift  motion. 
To  find  at  this  spot  that  I  was  able  to  look  at  a 
flock  of  a  thousand  or  two  of  geese  at  a  short  distance 
has  been  one  of  my  most  delightful  experiences  in 
bird-watching  in  England.  I  had  heard  of  their 
tameness  from  others,  but  could  hardly  credit  it 
until  witnessing  it  myself.  The  best  time  was  in 
fine  weather  as  we  occasionally  get  it  in  October  and 
November,  when  the  wind  is  still  and  the  sunshine 
bright  and  warm,  for  the  birds  are  then  in  a  drowsy 
state  and  less  vigilant  than  at  other  times,  especially 
after  a  moonlight  night  when  they  have  been  feeding 
on  the  stubble  and  pastures.  You  can  then  get 
quite  near  to  them  and  see  them  at  their  best,  and 
with  a  good  binocular  bring  them  as  close  to  your  eyes 
as  you  like.  It  is  a  very  fine  sight — this  assemblage 
of  large  wild  birds  on  the  green  turf  sitting  or  standing 
in  every  attitude  of  repose.  At  a  distance  they  look 
almost  black ;  seen  closely  one  admires  the  shading  of 
their  plumage,  the  dark  upper  barred  greys  and 
browns,  and  the  buff  colouring  on  neck  and  breast 
and  pink  beak  and  legs.  The  sight  is  peculiarly  fine 
when,  as  frequently  happens,  great  numbers  of  birds 
of  other  species  gather  at  the  same  spot  as  if  a  parlia- 


3o          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

ment  of  the  feathered  nations  were  being  held.  Rooks 
and  crows,  both  black  and  hooded,  and  daws  are  often 
there  in  hundreds ;  lapwings  too  in  hundreds,  and 
black-headed  gulls  and  starlings  and  wintering  larks, 
with  other  small  birds.  The  geese  repose,  the  others 
are  mostly  moving  about  in  search  of  worms  and 
grubs.  The  lapwings  are  quietest,  inclined  to  repose 
too ;  but  at  intervals  they  all  rise  up  and  wheel 
about  for  a  minute  or  so,  then  drop  to  earth  again. 

As  I  stand  motionless  leaning  on  a  gate  watching 
them,  having  them,  as  seen  through  the  glasses,  no 
more  than  twenty  yards  away,  I  note  that  for  all 
their  quietude  in  the  warm  sleepy  sunshine  they  are 
wild  geese  still,  that  there  are  always  two  or  three 
to  half  a  dozen  who  keep  their  heads  up  and  their 
eyes  wide  open  for  the  general  good,  also  that  the 
entire  company  is  subject  at  intervals  to  little  con- 
tagious gusts  and  thrills  of  alarm.  It  may  be  some 
loud  unusual  noise — a  horse  on  the  road  suddenly 
breaking  into  a  thunderous  gallop,  or  the  "  hoot- 
hoot  "  of  a  motor-car ;  then  the  enraged  scream  of  a 
gull  or  carrion-crow  at  strife  with  his  neighbour ; 
the  sleepers  wake  and  put  up  their  heads,  but  in  a 
few  moments  they  are  reposing  again.  Then  a  great 
heron  that  has  been  standing  motionless  like  a  grey 
column  for  an  hour  starts  up  and  passes  swaying  and 
flapping  over  them,  creating  a  fresh  alarm,  which 
subsides  as  quickly  as  the  first.  By-and-by  a  fresh 
flock  of  geese  arrive,  returning  from  some  inland 
feeding-ground,  where  the  gunners  have  been  after 


WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA  3 1 

them,  flying  high  with  a  great  clamour  which  you 
hear  before  they  become  visible.  Arrived  at  the 
refuge,  they  wheel  round  and  begin  their  descent, 
but  do  not  alight ;  again  they  rise  to  circle  about 
and  again  descend,  and  when  close  to  the  earth, 
every  bird  dropping  his  bright-coloured  legs  to 
touch  the  ground,  suddenly  they  change  their  minds 
and  rise  to  wheel  about  for  a  minute  or  two  and  then 
go  right  away  out  to  sea. 

It  was  no  doubt  my  presence  on  several  occasions 
which  prevented  them  from  settling  down  with  the 
others ;  for  it  was  no  harmless  shepherd  or  farm- 
labourer  which  they  perceived  looked  on  standing 
motionless  by  the  gate  watching  their  fellows,  a 
suspicious-looking  object  in  his  hand.  It  might  be 
a  gamekeeper  or  sportsman  whose  intention  was  to 
send  a  charge  of  shot  into  the  crowd.  But  this 
going  away  of  the  flock  instead  of  alighting  would 
prove  too  much  for  the  others  :  they  would  now  be 
all  awake ;  the  suspicion  would  grow  and  grow,  every 
bird  standing  up  with  outstretched  neck ;  then  they 
would  draw  closer  together,  emitting  excited  cackling 
sounds,  all  asking  what  it  was — what  had  frightened 
their  fellows  and  sent  them  away — what  danger  in- 
visible to  them  had  they  spied  from  aloft  ?  And 
then  they  would  spring  simultaneously  into  the  air 
with  a  rushing  noise  of  wings  and  tempest  of  screams, 
and  rising  high  go  straight  away  over  the  sea,  soon 
vanishing  from  sight,  only  to  return  half  an  hour  later 
and  settle  down  once  more  in  the  same  green  place. 


32          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

To  the  naturalist,  to  any  bird-lover  in  fact,  a  large 
gathering  of  big  birds  is,  of  all  sights,  the  most    ex- 
hilarating, especially  in  this  country  where  the  big 
birds  have  been  diligently  weeded  out  until  few  are 
left.    At  Wells  I  had  two  matters  in  my  mind  to 
enhance  the  pleasure  experienced.     One  was  in  the 
thought  of  the  birds'  striking  intelligence,  as  shown 
by  their  changed  demeanour  during  their  daily  visits 
to  that  camping-spot  on  the  marsh  where  they  relax 
their  extreme  wildness.     It  is  often  borne  in  on  me 
in  observing  birds  that  the  position  of  a    species    or 
family  in  the  scale  of  nature  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  anatomist  and  evolutionist  is  not  a  criterion  of 
its  intelligence.     Thus  the  Anatidae,  or  ducks,  which 
in  any  natural  classification  would  be  placed  far  below 
the  crows  and  parrots,  are   mentally    equal   to   the 
highest  of  the  bird  order.     It  was  purely  the  intelli- 
gence of  these  geese  which  made  it  possible  for  me  to 
observe  them  so  nearly  at  that  spot,  which  was  no 
sand-bar  with  the  protecting  sea  all  round  it,  but  a 
small  space  in  the  very  midst  of  the  enemies'  country. 
It  gave  me  even  a  higher  pleasure  to  think  that 
there  are  still  a  few  great  landowners  in  England,  like 
the  present  and  the  late  Lord  Leicester,  who  do  not 
look  on  our  noble  bird  life  as  something  to  be  des- 
troyed for  sport,  or  in  the  interests  of  sport,  until  it 
has  been  wiped  out  of  existence.     It  is  not  only  the 
geese  which  receive  protection  here.     Ducks  in  thou- 
sands are  accustomed  to  winter  in  the  park  at  Holkham. 
All  breeding  species,  from  the  beautiful  sheldrake  to 


WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA  ft 

the  small  redshank  and  ringed  dotterel,  are  protected 
as  much  as  they  can  be  in  a  place  where  every  one  has 
a  gun  and  wants  to  get  something  for  the  pot.  In 
summer  the  common  and  lesser  tern  have  their  breed- 
ing place  on  the  sand-hills,  and  a  watcher  is  placed 
there  to  prevent  them  from  being  disturbed  and 
harried  by  trippers  and  egg-stealing  collectors.  One 
curious  result  of  the  protection  given  to  the  terns  was 
that  two  or  three  years  ago  two  pairs  of  black-headed 
gulls  started  breeding  close  to  them.  It  was  as  if 
these  gulls  had  observed  what  was  being  done  and 
had  said  to  one  another  :  "  This  is  not  a  suitable  breed- 
ing-place for  gulls,  though  a  proper  one  for  terns 
who  prefer  sand  and  shingle  ;  but  what  an  advantage 
to  have  a  man  stationed  there  to  protect  the  nests 
from  being  harried  !  Come,  let  us  make  our  nests 
here,  just  on  the  border  of  the  terns'  gullery,  on  the 
chance  of  our  eggs  coming  in  for  protection  too." 
The  experiment  turned  out  well,  and  last  summer 
no  fewer  than  sixteen  pairs  nested  and  brought  off 
their  young  at  that  spot. 


CHAPTER  IV 
GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS 

THIS  chapter  is  nothing  but  a  digression,  suggested 
by  what  goes  before ;  for  the  subject  touched  on  in 
the  account  of  the  wild  geese  on  the  East  Coast  is 
one  which  stirs  the  naturalist  and  bird-lover  deeply 
— the  delight  of  witnessing  immense  congregations 
of  birds,  especially  those  of  large  size  and  noble  ap- 
pearance. The  remembrance  of  such  scenes  is  a  joy 
for  ever,  in  many  instances  clouded  by  the  thought 
that  the  sight  which  it  is  a  happiness  to  recall  will 
be  witnessed  no  more. 

Some  years  ago  the  distinguished  naturalist  and 
palaeontologist,  Mr.  Richard  Lydekker,  went  out  to 
Buenos  Ayres  to  look  over  and  arrange  the  collection 
of  tertiary  fossils  in  the  famous  La  Plata  Museum. 
He  had  read  my  Naturalist  in  La  Plata  with  indus- 
trious zeal,  quoting  from  it  in  rather  a  wholesale  way 
when  compiling  his  Royal  Natural  History.  He  had 
also  read  Darwin  and  other  naturalists  who  have 
described  that  same  region,  and  had  a  hundred  things 
to  look  at  besides  the  fossils.  One  thing  he  desired  to 
see  was  the  crested  screamer — that  great  spur-winged 
loud-voiced  bird  which  has  puzzled  zoologists  to 

34 


GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS          35 

classify,  some  thinking  it  ralline  others  anserine  in 
its  affinities,  while  Huxley  considered  it  was  related 
to  the  archaeopteryx.  Having  established  himself 
on  the  back  of  a  horse,  Mr.  Lydekker — a  biological 
Dr.  Syntax  of  the  twentieth  century — set  out  in 
quest  of  this  singular  fowl,  and  eventually  in  some 
wild  and  lonely  spot  succeeded  in  catching  sight  at 
a  vast  distance  of  a  specimen  or  two.  This  did  not 
satisfy  him  ;  he  wanted  to  see  the  great  birds  as  I  had 
seen  them,  when  I  rode  among  them  across  a  vast 
marshy  plain  and  saw  them  in  pairs  and  parties,  and 
in  bunches  of  a  score  or  two  to  a  hundred,  like  an  in- 
numerable widely  scattered  flock  of  grazing  sheep 
spread  out  and  extending  on  every  side  to  the  horizon. 
And  he  wanted  to  hear  them  as  I  had  heard  them, 
"counting  the  hours,"  as  the  gauchos  say,  when  at 
intervals  during  the  night  they  all  burst  out  singing 
like  one  bird,  and  the  powerful  ringing  voices  of  the 
incalculable  multitude  produce  an  effect  as  of  thou- 
sands and  tens  of  thousands  of  great  chiming  bells, 
and  the  listener  is  shaken  by  the  tempest  of  sound  and 
the  earth  itself  appears  to  tremble  beneath  him. 

All  this,  our  naturalist  was  informed  by  persons 
on  the  spot,  was  pure  romance  ;  no  such  vast  congre- 
gations of  crested  screamers  were  ever  seen,  and  no 
such  great  concerts  were  ever  heard ;  the  bird,  as 
he  had  witnessed,  was  quite  rare,  and  so  it  had  always 
been. 

This  vexed  him,  and  he  resolved  to  have  it  out 
with  me  on  his  return  to  England.  The  castigation 


36          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

was  to  be  made  in  public  and  the  Naturalist  in  La 
Plata  to  be  for  ever  discredited.  Luckily  for  my 
poor  little  reputation  he  had  made  further  enquiries 
before  quitting  the  country  and  discovered  that  I 
had  told  the  simple  truth,  that  the  screamer,  albeit 
a  very  big  bird,  had  been  excessively  abundant  and 
in  dry  seasons  often  formed  the  stupendous  gatherings 
I  had  described ;  finally,  that  in  about  a  quarter  of 
a  century  it  had  been  practically  extirpated  on  the 
pampas.  All  this  I  had  from  his  own  lips  on  his 
return,  an  almost  incredible  example  of  candour,  for 
it  is  well  known  that  we  naturalists,  like  the  early 
Christians,  love  one  another. 

Alas !  the  crested  screamer  is  but  one  of  many  noble 
species  which  have  met  with  the  same  fate  in  southern 
Argentina.  The  rhea,  the  great  blue  heron,  the 
flamingo,  the  wood  ibis,  and  the  great  blue  ibis  of 
the  marshes  and  the  great  black-faced  ibis  of  the 
uplands  with  its  resounding  cries  as  of  giants  beating 
with  hammers  on  iron  plates ;  and  storks  and  upland 
geese,  and  the  white  and  the  black-necked  swans. 
Then  follow  others  of  lesser  size — the  snowy  egrets 
and  other  herons  and  bitterns,  glossy  ibis,  rails  and 
courlans,  big  and  little,  the  beautiful  golden-winged 
jacana,  curlews  and  godwits,  and  waders  and  ducks 
too  numerous  to  mention.  They  were  in  myriads 
on  the  rivers  and  marshes,  they  were  seen  in  clouds 
in  the  air,  like  starlings  in  England  when  they  con- 
gregate at  their  roosting-places.  They  are  gone  now, 
or  are  rapidly  going.  Their  destruction  was  proceed- 


GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS  37 

ing  when  I  left,  hating  the  land  of  my  birth  and  the 
Italian  immigration  that  was  blighting  it,  wishing 
only  that  I  could  escape  from  all  recollection  of  the 
scenes  I  had  witnessed — of  the  very  land  where  I 
first  knew  and  loved  birds. 

How  amazing  it  seems  that  the  chief  destroyers 
should  be  the  South  Europeans,  the  Latins,  who  are 
supposed  to  be  lovers  of  the  beautiful  and  who  are 
undoubtedly  the  most  religious  of  all  people !  They 
have  no  symbol  for  the  heavenly  beings  they  worship 
but  a  bird.  Their  religious  canvases,  illuminations, 
and  temples,  inside  and  out,  are  covered  with  re- 
presentations of  ibises,  cranes,  pigeons,  gulls,  modified 
so  as  to  resemble  human  figures,  and  these  stand  for 
angels  and  saints  and  the  third  person  of  the  Trinity. 
Yet  all  these  people,  from  popes,  cardinals,  princes, 
and  nobles  down  to  the  meanest  peasant  on  the  land, 
are  eager  to  slay  and  devour  every  winged  creature, 
from  noble  crane  and  bustard  even  to  the  swallow 
that  builds  in  God's  house  and  the  minute  cutty 
wren  and  fairy-like  firecrest — the  originals  of  those 
sacred  emblematic  figures  before  which  they  bow  in 
adoration  ! 

But  it  is  not  the  Latins  only  that  are  concerned 
in  this  dreadful  business ;  our  race  too — a  nobler  race 
as  we  try  to  think — at  home,  in  North  America, 
Africa,  and  Australasia,  have  been  only  too  diligently 
occupied  in  exterminating.  Let  it  not  be  forgotten 
that  down  to  1868,  the  date  of  our  first  wild  Bird 
Protection  Act?  the  chief  breeding-places  of  our  sea. 


38          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

birds  were  invaded  every  year  at  holiday  time  by 
train-loads  and  ship-loads  of  trippers  with  guns  to 
engage  in  the  wholesale  massacre  of  the  birds  on  the 
cliffs  and  the  sea.  Nor  was  it  confined  to  the  trippers 
from  London,  Manchester,  Birmingham,  and  other 
great  centres  of  population ;  the  fascination  of  it 
drew  men  of  all  classes,  including  those  who  annually 
shot  (and  even  owned)  the  moors  and  coverts.  For 
in  June  and  July  the  grouse  and  partridge  and  pheasant 
were  not  yet  ready  for  killing,  and  it  was  great  fun 
in  the  meantime  to  have  a  few  days  with  the  gannets, 
terns,  kittiwakes,  guillemots,  and  other  auks.  It  was 
nothing  to  them  that  the  birds  were  breeding,  that 
the  result  of  this  wholesale  slaughter  would  be  the 
extirpation  of  the  multitudes  of  sea  birds  which  people 
the  cliffs  before  the  century  was  out,  since  they  were 
no  man's  birds — only  God's. 

Happily  there  were  a  few  men  in  England  who  had 
the  courage  to  lift  up  their  voices  against  this  hideous 
iniquity,  who  eventually  succeeded  in  getting  an 
Act  for  its  suppression.  Thus  it  came  about  that 
our  sea  birds  were  saved  and  we  have  them  still,  and 
that  we  were  given  courage  to  go  on  and  try  to  save 
our  land  birds  as  well. 

And  with  this  business  we  are  still  occupied,  fight- 
ing to  save  our  country's  bird  life  from  destruction — 
how  strange  that  so  long  and  strenuous  a  fight  should 
be  necessary  to  secure  such  an  object !  But  that  it 
is  a  winning  fight  becomes  more  evident  as  the  years 
go  on.  There  is  now  a  public  feeling  on  our  side  : 


GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS  39 

we  are  not  a  brutish  nation  ready  to  stamp  out  all 
beauty  from  the  earth  so  long  as  the  killing  and  stamp- 
ing out  processes  minister  to  our  pleasure  or  profit. 
On  the  contrary  we  can  affirm  that  a  majority  of  the 
inhabitants  of  this  country  are  desirous  of  preserving 
its  beautiful  wild  bird  life.  Those  who  are  on  the 
other  side  may  be  classified  as  the  barbarians  of  means 
who  are  devoted  mainly  to  sport,  and  would  cheer- 
fully see  the  destruction  of  most  of  our  birds  above 
the  size  of  a  thrush  for  the  sake  of  that  disastrous 
exotic,  the  semi-domestic  pheasant  of  the  preserves ; 
secondly,  the  private  collector,  that  "  curse  of  rural 
England  " ;  and  last  but  not  least,  the  regiment  of 
horrible  women  who  persist  in  decorating  their  heads 
with  aigrettes  and  carcases  of  slaughtered  birds.  In 
the  forty  odd  years  that  have  passed  since  a  first  at- 
tempt was  made  to  give  some  protection  to  our  wild 
birds  much  has  been  done  in  England ;  and  happily 
in  other  lands  and  continents  occupied  by  men  of 
British  race  our  example  is  being  followed.  Would 
that  the  Americans  had  begun  to  follow  it  three 
decades  sooner,  since  owing  to  their  tardiness  they 
have  many  and  great  losses  to  lament.  It  is  not 
strange  that  the  crested  screamer,  with  many  other 
noble  species,  has  quickly  been  done  to  death  in  a 
country  overrun  by  Italians,  when  it  is  remembered 
that  in  the  United  States  of  America  the  passenger 
pigeon,  the  most  abundant  species  in  all  that  continent, 
has  been  extirpated  in  very  recent  times  without  an 
effort  having  been  made  to  save  it.  Now  that  it  is 


40          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

gone  the  accounts  given  by  Audubon  and  Fenimore 
Cooper  of  its  numbers  when  its  migrating  flocks 
darkened  the  sun  at  noon  read  like  the  veriest  fables 
— inventions  as  wild  as  those  of  the  crested  screamer 
congregations  in  my  La  Plata  book,  and  of  the  mi- 
gration of  fishes  in  the  Pacific  described  by  Herman 
Melville. 

To  return  to  the  subject  which  was  uppermost  in 
my  mind  when  I  sat  down  to  write  this  chapter,  or 
this  digression.  It  was  the  peculiar  delight  produced  in 
us  by  the  sight  and  sound  of  birds,  especially  those  of 
large  size,  in  flocks  and  multitudes.  The  bird  itself 
is  a  thing  of  beauty,  supreme  in  this  respect  among 
living  forms,  therefore,  as  we  have  seen,  the  symbol 
in  art  of  all  that  is  highest  in  the  spiritual  world. 
Nevertheless  we  find  that  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
single  bird  is  as  nothing  compared  to  that  of  seeing 
a  numerous  company  of  birds.  Take  this  case  of  the 
wild  grey  goose — a  large,  handsome  bird,  a  joy  to 
look  at  whether  flying  or  standing  motionless  and 
statuesque  with  head  raised,  on  the  wide  level  flats 
and  marshes.  But  the  pleasure  is  infinitely  greater 
when  I  see  a  flock  of  a  thousand  or  of  two  or  three 
thousands  as  I  do  here  where  I  am  writing  this  on  the 
East  Coast.  They  come  over  me,  seen  first  very  far 
off  as  a  black  line,  wavering,  breaking,  and  re-forming, 
increasing  like  a  coming  cloud  and  changing  its  form, 
till  it  resolves  itself  into  the  host  of  great  broad-winged 
birds,  now  black  against  the  pale  immense  sky,  now 
flashing  white  in  the  sun.  I  hear  them  too,  even 


GREAT  BIRD  GATHERINGS  41 

before  they  become  visible,  a  distant  faint  clangour 
which  grows  and  changes  as  it  comes  and  is  a  beautiful 
noise  of  many  shrill  and  deep  sounds,  as  of  wind  and 
stringed  instruments,  producing  an  orchestral  effect, 
as  of  an  orchestra  in  the  clouds. 

What  is  the  secret  of  the  delight  which  possesses 
me  at  such  a  spectacle,  which  seems  at  the  moment  to 
surpass  all  other  delights,  giving  me  a  joy  that  will 
last  for  days  ?  It  is  not  merely  that  the  pleasure 
in  the  single  bird  is  intensified,  or  doubled  or  increased 
a  hundred-fold.  It  is  not  the  same  old  feeling  in  a 
greater  degree ;  there  is  a  new  element  in  it  which 
makes  it  different  in  character.  The  sight  dwells 
with  pleasure  on  a  pleasant  landscape ;  but  if  we  then 
ascend  a  hill  and  look  upon  the  scene  from  that  higher 
standpoint  a  quite  different  feeling  is  experienced ; 
the  wider  horizon  is  a  revelation  of  vastness,  of  a  great- 
ness which  is  practically  new,  since  the  mind  had 
previously  become  attuned  to  earth  as  viewed  from 
the  lower  level.  Now  we  get  the  element  of  sublimity. 
So,  in  the  case  of  the  large  bird  seen  in  flocks  and 
vast  numbers — seen  and  heard ;  it  is  a  sudden  revelation 
of  wild  life  in  its  nobler  aspect — of  its  glorious  freedom 
and  power  and  majesty. 

We  get  this  emotion  in  various  degrees  at  the 
various  breeding  stations  of  our  larger  birds,  notably 
on  the  Yorkshire  and  Northumberland  coasts,  the 
Bass  Rock,  the  Orkneys  and  Shetlands,  and  "  utmost 
Kilda's  lonely  isle."  Those  who  have  experienced 
it  value  it  above  all  the  delights  this  spectacular  world 


42          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

can  afford  them,  and  their  keenest  desire  is  for  its 
repetition.  It  is  to  taste  this  feeling  that  thousands 
of  persons,  some  with  the  pretext  of  bird-study  or 
photography,  annually  visit  these  teeming  stations 
within  the  kingdom,  whilst  others  who  are  able  to  go 
further  afield  seek  out  the  great  bird  haunts  in  other 
countries. 

But  the  feeling  is  incommunicable,  and  is  a  treasured 
memory  and  secret,  a  joy  for  ever  in  the  heart.  Those 
who  do  not  know  it — who  have  had  no  opportunity 
of  finding  out  for  themselves — cannot  imagine  it. 
To  these  it  may  seem  strange  that  any  man  should 
turn  his  back  on  the  comforts  of  civilised  life  to  spend 
long  laborious  days  in  dreary  desert  regions,  scorched 
by  tropical  suns,  devoured  by  mosquitoes,  wading  in 
pestilential  swamps ;  not  for  sport,  the  fascination  of 
which  is  universally  known,  but  just  for  the  sake  of 
seeing  a  populous  rookery  or  congregation  of  big  birds 
in  their  breeding  haunts.  Those  who  do  know  will 
bear  these  discomforts,  and  even  greater  ones,  for  the 
sake  of  that  glorious  gladness  which  the  sight  will 
produce  in  them.  This  rather  than  the  notes  and 
bundle  of  photographs  which  they  bring  back  is  what 
they  have  gone  out  to  seek. 


CHAPTER  V 
BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY 

I  WAS  on  my  way  to  the  West  of  England,  and  from 
Waterloo  for  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles 
had  but  one  fellow-traveller  in  the  carriage.  A  man 
of  a  fine  presence,  about  sixty ;  from  his  keen,  alert 
eyes,  hard  weathered  face,  and  his  dress  I  took  him 
to  be  a  sportsman.  He  very  soon  let  me  know  that  he 
was  one,  as  great  an  enthusiast  as  one  could  meet ; 
and  as  he  was  companionable  and  we  talked  the 
whole  time,  I  got  to  know  a  good  deal  about  him. 
Shooting  and  fishing  were  his  chief  pleasures  and  in- 
terest in  life  :  he  had  followed  both  from  his  early 
years,  in  and  out  of  England.  For  the  last  ten  or 
twelve  years  he  had  lived  at  the  antipodes,  where  he 
held  an  important  position  in  one  of  the  colonies ; 
but  somehow  the  sports  he  loved  best  had  not  the 
same  relish  for  him  in  that  distant  country  as  at  home, 
and  he  was  accustomed  to  take  frequent  and  long 
holidays  to  have  a  month  on  the  moors  and  in  the 
coverts  and  to  go  on  shooting  and  fishing  excursions 
to  the  continent.  Wild-fowling  was  perhaps  the 
kind  of  sport  he  loved  best  of  all,  and  we  soon  got  on 
the  subject  of  wild  geese. 

43 


44         ADVENTURES  AMONG    BIRDS 

That  bird  was  much  in  my  mind  at  the  moment, 
for  I  was  just  back  from  the  east  coast,  where  I  had 
been  staying  with  the  wild  geese,  so  to  speak,  at 
Wells-next-the-Sea,  watching  them  every  day  in 
their  great  gatherings  and  listening  to  their  multi- 
tudinous resounding  cries,  which  affect  one  like  bells, 
"  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh  "  it  may  be,  but  the 
sense  of  wildness  and  freedom  the  sound  imparts 
is  exceedingly  grateful. 

Some  of  his  adventures  among  the  geese  caused  me 
to  remark  that,  even  if  I  had  not  long  ceased  to  be  a 
sportsman,  I  would  never  again  lift  a  gun  against  a 
wild  goose ;  it  was  so  intelligent  a  bird  that  it  would 
be  like  shooting  at  a  human  being.  He  had  no  such 
feeling — could  not  understand  it.  If  geese  were 
more  intelligent  than  other  species,  that  only  made 
them  the  better  sporting  birds,  and  the  pleasure  of 
circumventing  them  was  so  much  the  greater.  There 
was  nothing  better  to  get  the  taste  of  shooting  half- 
tame  hand-fed  driven  birds  out  of  the  mouth  than 
a  week  or  two  after  wild  geese.  He  had  just  had  a 
fine  time  with  them  on  the  coast  of  Norway.  This 
reminded  him  of  something.  Yes,  the  wild  goose 
was  about  as  intelligent  a  bird  as  you  could  find. 
The  friend  he  had  been  staying  with  was  the  owner 
of  a  small  group  of  islands  or  islets  on  the  coast  of 
Norway ;  he  had  bought  them  a  good  many  years 
ago  purely  for  sporting  purposes,  as  the  geese  invariably 
came  there  on  migration  and  spent  some  time  on  the 
islands.  There  was  one  island  where  the  geese  used 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  45 

to  congregate  every  year  on  arrival  in  large  numbers, 
and  here  one  autumn  some  years  ago  a  goose  was 
caught  by  the  leg  in  a  steel  trap  set  for  a  fox.  The 
keeper  from  a  distance  saw  the  whole  vast  gathering 
of  geese  rise  up  and  circle  round  and  round  in  a  cloud, 
making  a  tremendous  outcry,  and  going  to  the  spot 
he  found  the  bird  struggling  violently  in  the  trap. 
He  took  it  home  to  another  and  larger  island  close 
by  where  his  master,  my  informant's  friend,  had  a 
farm.  From  that  day  the  wild  geese  never  settled 
on  that  islet,  which  had  been  used  as  a  resting-place 
for  very  many  years.  The  bird  he  had  accidentally 
caught  was  an  old  gander,  and  had  its  leg  smashed ; 
but  the  keeper  set  to  work  to  repair  the  injury,  and 
after  binding  it  up  he  put  the  bird  in  an  outhouse 
and  eventually  it  got  quite  well.  He  then  pinioned 
it  and  put  it  out  with  the  other  birds.  A  little  while 
before  the  old  gander  had  been  caught  the  foxes 
had  become  so  troublesome  at  the  farm  that  it  was 
found  necessary  to  secure  all  the  birds  every  night  in 
enclosures  and  houses  made  for  the  purpose,  and  as 
the  birds  preferred  to  be  out  the  keeper  had  to  go 
round  and  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  every  evening 
in  collecting  and  driving  them  in.  Now  before  the 
old  wild  goose  had  been  able  to  go  about  many  days 
with  the  others  it  was  noticed  that  he  was  acquiring 
a  kind  of  mastery  over  them,  and  every  day  as  evening 
approached  he  began  to  try  to  lead  and,  failing  in 
that,  to  drive  them  to  the  enclosures  and  buildings. 
The  keeper,  curious  to  see  how  far  this  would  go, 


46          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

began  to  relax  his  efforts  and  to  go  round  later  and  later 
each  evening,  and  as  his  efforts  slackened  the  gander's 
zeal  increased,  until  he  was  left  to  do  the  whole  work 
himself  and  all  the  keeper  had  to  do  was  to  go  round 
and  shut  the  doors.  This  state  of  things  had  now 
continued  for  some  years,  and  the  old  wild  goose  was 
the  acknowledged  leader  and  master  of  all  the  birds 
on  the  farm. 

The  story  of  this  wise  gander,  its  readiness  in  adapt- 
ing itself  to  a  wholly  new  way  of  life  and  in  taking  in 
the  situation — the  danger  by  night  and  need  of  some- 
one in  authority  over  that  heterogeneous  crowd  of  birds 
who  had  lost  the  power  of  flight,  and,  from  being 
looked  after,  had  grown  careless  of  their  own  safety — 
and,  finally,  the  taking  of  it  all  on  himself,  putting 
himself  in  office  as  it  were,  may  strike  us  as  very  strange, 
but  it  agrees  well  enough  with  the  character  of  the 
bird  as  we  know  it  in  its  domestic  condition.  It  is 
common  to  hear  of  the  masterful  old  gander  at  farm- 
houses, the  ruler  and  sometimes  tyrant  of  the  farm- 
yard. I  have  myself  observed  and  have  heard  of  many 
instances  of  long-lasting  and  exceedingly  bitter  feuds 
between  an  imperious  gander  and  some  other  member 
of  the  feathered  community,  a  turkey  cock  or  Muscovy 
duck  or  peacock  who  refused  to  be  governed  by  a 
goose.  But  I  was  specially  pleased  to  have  had  this 
story  of  the  bird  in  Norway  from  a  sportsman  and 
enthusiastic  wild-fowler,  one  of  the  class  who  do  not 
like  to  think  too  much  about  the  psychology  of  the 
creatures  it  is  their  pleasure  to  follow  and  destroy. 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  47 

I  have  also  heard  of  cases  of  birds  of  other  species 
taking  on  themselves  the  leadership  and  guardianship 
of  their  fellows.  One  from  South  America  relates 
to  the  trumpeter,  the  strange  and  delightful  Psophia 
leucoptera,  a  quaint,  beautiful  creature,  a  little  ostrich 
in  shape,  taller  than  a  fowl,  very  dark,  with  white 
wings,  the  head  and  neck  glossed  with  purple  and 
green.  A  singular  bird,  too,  in  its  voice  and  manner, 
when  three  or  four  get  together  and  have  a  sort  of 
drum  and  trumpet  performance,  keeping  time  to  the 
music  with  measured  steps  and  bowings  and  various 
quaint  gestures  and  motions.  Alas !  they  are  delicate 
birds,  and  all  the  beautiful  trumpeters  we  had  some 
time  ago  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  are  now  dead — 
to  come  to  life  again,  let  us  hope,  in  their  distant  home 
in  some  Brazilian  forest. 

About  twenty  years  ago  an  American  naturalist, 
one  Dr.  Rusby,  was  in  a  part  of  Bolivia  where  it  was 
common  to  keep  a  pet  trumpeter,  and  he  says  that 
the  Spanish  settlers  almost  worshipped  them  on 
account  of  their  amiable  and  affectionate  domestic 
habits.  Early  in  the  morning  the  trumpeter  would 
go  into  a  sleeper's  room  and  salute  him  on  rising  by 
dancing  about  the  floor,  bowing  its  head  and  dropping 
its  wings  and  tail,  continuing  the  performance  until 
its  presence  was  noticed  and  it  was  spoken  to,  where- 
upon it  would  depart  to  visit  another  bedroom,  to 
repeat  the  ceremony  there,  then  to  another,  until 
the  whole  household  had  been  visited  and  bid  "  Good- 
morning."  Afterwards,  when  all  were  up,  it  would 


48          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

attach  itself  to  some  one  member  of  the  family  and 
follow  him  or  her  about  most  of  the  day.  The 
trumpeter  loved  and  took  an  interest  in  every  one  of 
the  house,  including  the  stranger  within  the  gates, 
but  was  specially  devoted  to  one  or  two  individuals. 

It  is  right  to  remember  that  this  beautiful  dis- 
position of  the  trumpeter  and  all  its  pretty  actions 
have  not  been  acquired  through  companionship  with 
human  beings  :  they  are  mere  survivals  of  its  own 
wild  life  in  the  forest  with  its  own  fellows,  and  possibly 
with  birds  of  other  species  with  which  it  associates. 
At  all  events,  I  have  heard  of  cases  in  which  a  tame 
trumpeter,  in  a  country  house  in  Brazil  or  Venezuela, 
where  fowls  and  birds  of  various  kinds  were  kept  and 
allowed  to  roam  about  at  will,  placing  himself  in 
charge  of  the  others,  attending  them  at  their  feeding- 
grounds,  keeping  watch,  giving  the  alarm  at  the  ap- 
proach of  danger,  and  bringing  or  hunting  them  home 
at  roosting-time. 

If  my  reader  happens  not  to  be  of  those  who  regard 
a  bird  merely  as  a  creature  to  be  taken  and  destroyed 
for  man's  pleasure  or  for  the  decoration  of  his  women, 
who  like  a  lovely  hat  to  match  the  lovely  spirit  within, 
I  trust  that  he  will  not  think  that  these  be  tall  stories 
about  a  wise  grey  goose  in  grey  north  lands  and  a 
benevolent  trumpeter  in  the  tropics,  for  then  he  will 
perhaps  say  that  the  story  I  have  got  to  tell  in  con- 
clusion is  taller  still. 

It  is  a  common  fact  in  natural  history  that  the  males 
of  certain  species  exhibit  a  good  deal  of  anxiety  about 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  49 

the  proper  care  of  the  eggs,  and  exercise  supervision 
and  authority  over  the  females,  compelling  them 
during  the  period  of  incubation  to  return  to  the  nest 
when  they  are  inclined  to  stay  out  too  long.  Our 
swift  is  a  familiar  example.  But  has  any  one  ever 
observed  an  individual  of  any  species,  one  of  a  colony, 
presumably  a  male,  exercising  this  kind  of  mastership 
over  a  number  of  females  in  the  absence  of  their 
mates  ?  Yet  this  is  exactly  what  I  witnessed  on  one 
occasion,  and  if  I  were  to  ask  a  dozen  or  fifty  naturalists 
to  name  the  species  they  would  all  guess  wrong,  for 
the  bird  in  question  was  the  small,  delicate,  gentle, 
moth-like  sand-martin — the  "  mountain  butterfly," 
as  it  is  prettily  named  in  Spain. 

Near  Yeovil  I  found  a  breeding-place  of  these  birds 
in  a  vast  old  sand-pit.  It  was  in  May,  and  no  doubt 
they  were  incubating.  There  were  about  fifty  holes 
in  the  steepest  side  of  the  sand-bank,  and  when  I 
began  watching  them  there  were  about  fourteen  or 
fifteen  birds  flying  round  and  round  within  the  basin 
of  the  pit,  hawking  after  flies,  and  perhaps  prolonging 
their  play-time  after  their  morning  feed.  By-and-by 
I  noticed  one  bird  acting  in  a  singular  manner  ;  I 
saw  him  come  out  of  one  hole  and  go  quickly  into 
another,  then  another  still,  until  he  had  visited  several, 
remaining  about  five  or  six  seconds  in  each,  or  as  long 
as  it  would  take  him  to  run  to  the  end  of  the  burrow 
and  return.  Finally,  having  finished  inspecting  the 
holes,  he  began  pursuing  one  of  the  birds  flying 
aimlessly  about  in  the  pit ;  the  chase  increased  in 
4 


So  ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

speed  and  violence  until  the  hunted  bird  took  refuge 
in  one  of  the  burrows.  He  then  started  chasing 
another  of  the  birds  flying  about,  and  in  due  time 
this  one  was  also  driven  into  one  of  the  holes.  Then 
a  third  chase  began,  then  a  fourth  and  so  on  until 
every  bird  had  been  driven  into  a  hole,  always  after 
a  good  deal  of  rushing  about,  and  he  remained  alone. 
After  flying  up  and  down  a  few  times  he  finally  flew 
off,  probably  to  some  water-course  or  moist  meadow 
abounding  in  flies  at  a  distance  from  the  pit,  where 
he  would  join  the  other  males  of  the  colony. 

I  remained  for  some  time  on  the  spot,  keeping  a 
close  watch  on  the  little  black  burrows  on  the  orange- 
coloured  sand-bank,  but  not  a  bird  flew  or  even  peeped 
out ;  nor  did  any  of  the  absent  birds  return  to  the 
pit. 

Is  it  a  habit  of  this  swallow  in  the  breeding-time  for 
one  male  to  remain  behind  when  the  others  go  away 
to  feed,  and  the  females,  or  some  of  them,  are  still 
off  their  eggs,  just  as,  in  other  species,  when  the 
company  settles  down  to  feed  or  sleep  one  keeps 
awake  and  on  guard  ?  The  action  of  the  swallow 
in  putting  back  the  others  on  their  eggs  strikes  one 
as  a  development  of  some  such  habit  or  instinct  as 
that  of  the  swift,  and  it  is  possible  that  in  the  sand- 
martin  the  social  habit  is  in  a  more  advanced  state 
and  the  communities  more  close-knit  than  in  most 
species.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  to  learn  yet  about 
the  inner  life  of  birds. 

Observers  of  animals  are  familiar  with  the  fact  of  a 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  51 

bird  of  masterful  temper  making  himself  head  and 
tyrant  of  his  fellows,  albeit  it  is  less  common  or  less 
noticeable  among  birds  that  have  the  social  habit 
than  it  is  among  mammals.  It  appears  to  me  that 
the  instances  given  above  are  not  of  this  kind.  The 
spirit,  the  motive,  is  different.  Here  the  bird  is 
seen  to  take  the  mastership  for  the  general  good, 
and  we  can  only  suppose  that,  with  or  without  greater 
strength  and  intelligence  than  his  fellows,  he  un- 
doubtedly possesses  a  keener  sense  of  danger,  or  superior 
alertness,  and  a  larger  measure  of  that  helpful  spirit 
without  which  wild  animals  could  not  exist  in  a  social 
state.  The  action  of  the  gander  and  of  the  trumpeter 
in  driving  their  fellows  home  in  the  evening  must 
be  regarded  as  similar  in  its  origin  to  that  of  the 
male  swift  when  he  hunts  his  mate  back  to  the  nest 
and  of  the  sand-martin  I  observed  chasing  the  fe- 
males of  the  colony  to  their  burrows.  In  a  lesser 
way  it  may  be  seen  in  any  flock  of  birds ;  they  move 
about  in  such  an  orderly  manner,  springing,  as  it 
appears  to  us,  simultaneously  into  the  air,  going 
in  a  certain  direction,  settling  here  or  there  to  feed, 
presently  going  away  to  another  distant  feeding-ground 
or  alighting  to  rest  or  sing  on  trees  and  bushes,  as  to 
produce  the  idea  of  a  single  mind.  But  the  flock  is 
not  a  machine ;  the  minds  are  many ;  one  bird 
gives  the  signal — the  one  who  is  a  little  better  in  his 
keener  senses  and  quicker  intelligence  than  his  com- 
panions ;  his  slightest  sound,  his  least  movement,  is 
heard  and  seen  and  understood  and  is  instantly  and 


52          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

simultaneously  acted  upon.  So  well  and  quickly  is 
he  understood  and  obeyed  that  the  fact  of  his  leader- 
ship or  promptership  is  difficult  to  detect.  Another 
manifestation  of  this  same  helpful  spirit  with  which 
observers  of  wild  animals  are  familiar,  is  seen  in  the 
self-appointed  guardian  or  sentinel  of  the  feeding  or 
sleeping  flock.  In  some  mammals  it  appears  in  a 
striking  way,  as  in  the  guanaco  on  the  Patagonian 
plains,  when  one  member  of  the  herd  ascends  a  hill 
or  other  high  spot  to  keep  watch  while  his  fellows  are 
browsing  on  the  bushes  or  grazing  on  the  plain  below. 
In  some  birds  the  watchful  spirit  is  so  powerful  that 
the  sentinel  and  alarm-giver  is  not  satisfied  to  see 
only  those  of  his  own  species  obey  his  warning ;  he 
would  have  every  feathered  creature  within  hearing 
escape  from  danger.  The  curlew  is  an  example  and 
has  been  observed  by  wild-fowlers  swooping  violently 
upon  and  trying  to  drive  up  a  duck  that  had  remained 
on  the  ground  after  all  the  other  birds  in  the  place 
had  taken  flight. 

Much  more  could  be  said  on  the  subject  if  there 
were  not  so  many  others  to  be  dealt  with  in  this 
book  :  probably  every  wild-fowler,  and  in  fact  every 
close  observer  of  the  actions  of  birds  who  reads  this 
chapter  will  be  able  to  recall  some  incident  he  has 
witnessed  which  illustrates  this  helpful  spirit.  But  I 
cannot  conclude  before  giving  one  remarkable  example 
of  a  bird  or  of  birds  making  themselves  masters  of  a 
flock  not  with  any  important  purpose  as  in  the  fore- 
going instances,  but  purely  in  play,  or  for  fun.  I 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  53 

witnessed  this  incident  many  years  ago,  and  told  it 
briefly  in  Argentine  Ornithology,  but  that  work  is 
little  known  and  unobtainable,  and  I  am  rather  pleased 
at  the  opportunity  of  relating  it  again  more  fully 
in  this  place. 

The  bird  was  a  Vanellus,  a  lapwing  in  its  shape, 
crest,  and  the  colour  of  its  plumage  closely  allied  to 
our  familiar  bird  of  the  moors  and  pasture-lands,  but 
a  third  bigger,  with  pink  beak,  crimson  eyes,  scarlet 
spurs  on  its  wings,  and  bright  red  legs,  and  these 
touches  of  colour,  "  angrie  and  brave,"  give  it  a 
strikingly  bold  appearance.  Our  green  plover  is 
like  a  small  weak  copy  of  the  Argentine  bird.  The 
voice  of  the  latter,  too,  is  twice  as  loud,  and  its  temper 
more  jealous  and  violent.  In  its  habits  it  resembles 
the  peewit,  but  has  a  greater  love  of  play,  which  it 
practises,  both  when  flying  and  on  the  ground.  This 
play  on  the  ground,  called  by  the  natives  the  bird's 
"  dance,"  is  performed  by  a  set  of  three,  and  is  in- 
dulged in  every  day  at  intervals  all  the  year  round. 
So  fond  of  it  are  they  that  when  the  birds  are  dis- 
tributed in  pairs  all  over  the  plains,  for  some  time 
before  and  during  the  breeding  season,  one  bird  may 
frequently  be  seen  to  leave  his  mate  at  home  and 
fly  away  to  visit  another  pair  in  the  neighbourhood. 
These,  instead  of  rising  up  with  angry  screams  to 
hunt  him  furiously  away  from  their  sacred  ground 
as  they  would  any  other  bird,  receive  his  visit  with 
manifest  pleasure,  and  running  to  him  where  he 
stands  motionless,  they  place  themselves  behind  him, 


54          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

standing  abreast,  their  plumage  puffed  out,  and  then 
with  loud,  rhythmical,  drumming  notes  uttered  by 
the  pair,  and  loud  single  measured  notes  by  the 
leader,  they  begin  a  rapid  march,  stepping  in  time 
to  the  music ;  then,  when  the  march  is  ended  the 
leader  as  a  rule  lifts  his  wings  and  holds  them  erect, 
still  emitting  loud  notes,  while  the  two  behind,  still 
standing  abreast  with  slightly  opened  wings  and 
puffed-out  feathers,  lower  their  heads  until  the  tips 
of  their  beaks  touch  the  ground,  at  the  same  time 
sinking  their  voices  until  the  drumming  sound  dies 
to  a  whisper.  The  performance  is  then  over,  and  is 
repeated,  or  if  the  visitor  is  in  a  hurry  he  takes  his 
departure,  to  rejoin  his  mate  and  receive  a  visitor 
himself  by-and-by. 

One  dry  summer,  long  after  the  breeding-season 
was  over  while  out  riding  I  passed  by  a  lagoon,  or 
lakelet,  where  the  birds  from  all  the  plain  for  some 
miles  round  were  accustomed  to  come  to  drink,  and 
noticed  a  gathering  of  about  a  hundred  lapwings 
standing  quietly  near  the  water.  It  was  evident 
they  had  all  had  their  drink  and  bath,  and  were  drying 
and  preening  their  feathers  and  resting  before  going 
back  to  their  several  feeding-grounds.  On  seeing 
them  my  attention  was  instantly  arrested  by  the 
singular  behaviour  of  two  birds,  the  only  restless 
noisy  ones  in  that  quiet,  silent  company.  It  was  not  a 
close  company;  every  bird  had  a  good  space  to 
himself,  his  nearest  neighbour  standing  a  foot  or 
more  away,  and  right  in  among  them  the  two  restless 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  55 

birds  were  trotting  freely  about,  uttering  loud  com- 
manding notes,  and  apparently  greatly  excited  about 
something.  I  had  seen  nothing  like  that  before,  and 
it  puzzled  me  to  account  for  their  action.  By-and-by 
there  was  a  fresh  arrival ;  a  lapwing  came  to  drink, 
and  instead  of  dropping  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
water,  he  alighted  about  thirty  feet  away,  at  a  distance 
of  two  or  three  yards  from  the  others,  and  remained 
there,  standing  erect  and  motionless  as  if  waiting. 
The  two  busy  birds,  still  crying  aloud,  now  made 
their  way  to  him,  and  placing  themselves  behind  him 
and  observing  all  the  attitudes  and  gestures  used  in 
their  "  dances  "  or  marches  and  giving  the  signal, 
the  three  set  off  at  a  trot"  to  the  sound  of  drums  and 
the  thirsty  bird  was  run  down  to  the  water.  He  at 
once  went  in  to  the  depth  of  his  knees  and  drank, 
then  squatting  down,  bathed  his  feathers,  the  whole 
process  lasting  about  half  a  minute.  He  would,  no 
doubt,  have  taken  much  longer  over  his  refreshment 
but  for  the  two  birds  who  had  run  him  down  to  the 
water,  and  who  continued  standing  on  the  margin 
emitting  their  loud  authoritative  cries.  Coming  out, 
he  was  again  received  as  at  first,  and  trotted  briskly 
away  with  drumming  sounds  to  a  place  with  the 
others.  No  sooner  was  this  done  than  the  two, 
smoothing  their  feathers  and  changing  their  notes, 
resumed  their  marching  about  among  their  fellows, 
until  another  lapwing  arrived,  whereupon  the  whole 
ceremony  was  gone  through  again. 

Without   a   doubt   this   performance  had   nothing 


56          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

but  play  for  a  motive,  the  remarkable  thing  about  it 
was  that  it  was  made  to  fit  so  admirably  into  the 
serious  business  which  brought  them  together  at  that 
spot.  They  came,  one  by  one,  from  all  over  the 
plain,  at  noon  on  a  hot  thirsty  day,  solely  for  re- 
freshment, yet  every  bird  on  arrival  instantly  fell 
into  the  humour  of  the  moment  and  took  his  ap- 
pointed part  and  place  in  the  game.  It  struck  me  at 
the  time  as  a  very  strange  thing,  for  well  as  I  knew 
the  bird,  I  had  never  witnessed  an  act  precisely  like 
this  before.  Yet  it  does  not  stand  alone,  except  in 
form ;  any  day  and  every  day  we  may  see  acts  in 
other  species  of  social  disposition  or  habits,  which  are 
undoubtedly  inspired  by  a  similar  spirit.  Little  sham 
quarrels  and  flights  and  chases ;  we  see  them  squaring 
up  to  one  another  with  threatening  gestures  and 
language ;  playing  little  practical  jokes  too,  as  when 
one  approaches  another  in  a  friendly  way  and  subtly 
watches  him  to  snatch  a  morsel  from  his  beak ;  or 
when  another  pretends  to  have  found  something 
exceptionally  good  and  makes  a  great  fuss  about  it  to 
deceive  a  comrade,  and  when  the  other  carries  the 
joke  further  by  capturing  and  carrying  off  the  bit  of 
dry  stick  or  whatever  it  is,  and  pretending  to  feast 
on  it  with  great  satisfaction.  These  and  a  hundred 
other  little  playful  acts  of  the  kind  are  common 
enough  and  mingle  with  and  are  like  a  part  of  the 
food-getting  or  other  business  of  the  moment. 

The  strangeness  of  the  plover's  performance  was 
due  to  the  singular  form  which  play  in  them  almost 


BIRDS  IN  AUTHORITY  57 

invariably  takes — the  military  discipline  in  all  their 
movements,  their  drumming  sounds  and  commanding 
cries,  the  tremendous  formality  of  it  all !  The  two 
birds  were  like  little  children  pretending  to  be  some 
mighty  personages  who  owned  everything  and  lorded 
it  over  the  others.  They  were  dispensers  of  the 
water  of  the  lake,  and  were  graciously  pleased  to 
allow  any  thirsty  bird  that  came  to  drink  and  bathe, 
but  only  after  the  proper  ceremonies  had  been  per- 
formed ;  also  the  drinking  and  bathing  had  to  be 
cut  short  rather  on  this  occasion. 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  WOOD  BY  THE  SEA 

ONE  of  my  favourite  haunts  at  Wells,  in  Norfolk,  is 
the  pine  wood,  a  mile  or  two  long,  growing  on  the  slope 
of  the  sand-hills  and  extending  from  the  Wells  em- 
bankment to  Holkham — a  black  strip  with  the  yellow- 
grey  dunes  and  the  sea  on  one  side  and  the  wide  level 
green  marsh  on  the  other.     It  is  the  roosting-place 
of  all  the  crows  that  winter  on  that  part  of  the  coast, 
and  I  time  my  visits  so  as  to  be  there  in  the  evening. 
Rooks  and  daws  also  resort  to  that  spot,  and  altogether 
there  is  a  vast  concourse  of  birds  of  the  crow  family. 
My  habit  is  to  stroll  on  to  the  embankment  at  about 
three  o'clock  to  watch  and  listen  to  the  geese  on  their 
way  from  their  feeding-grounds  to  the  sea,  always 
flying  too  high  for  the  poor  gunners  lying  in  wait  for 
them.     So  poor,  indeed,  are  some  of  these  men  that 
they  will   shoot   at   anything   that   flies   by,   even   a 
hooded  crow.     They  do  not  fire  at  it  for  fun — they 
can't  afford  to  throw  away  a  cartridge  :  one  of  them 
assured  me  that  a  crow,  stewed  with  any  other  bird 
he  might  have  in  the  larder — peewit,  redshank,  curlew, 
or  gull — goes  down  very  well  when  you  are  hungry. 
Later  I  go  on  to  the  sea,  meeting  the  last  of  the 
58 


A  WOOD  BY  THE  SEA  59 

fishers,  or  toilers  in  the  sands,  returning  before  dark ; 
men  and  boys  in  big  boots  and  heavy  wet  clothes, 
burdened  with  spades  and  forks  and  baskets  of  bait 
and  shell-fish.  With  slow,  heavy  feet  they  trudge 
past  and  leave  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

On  one  of  these  evenings  as  I  stood  on  the  ridge 
of  the  dunes,  looking  seaward,  when  the  tide  was  out 
and  the  level  sands  stretched  away  to  the  darkening 
horizon,  an  elderly  woman  made  her  appearance,  and 
had  evidently  come  all  that  way  down  to  give  her  dog 
an  evening  run.  Climbing  over  the  ridge,  she  went 
down  to  the  beach,  where  the  dog,  a  big  rough-haired 
terrier,  was  so  delighted  with  the  smooth  sands  that  he 
began  careering  round  her  in  wide  circles  at  his  utmost 
speed,  barking  the  while  with  furious  joy.  The 
sound  produced  an  extraordinary  effect ;  it  was  re- 
peated and  redoubled  a  hundred-fold  from  all  over 
the  flat  sands.  It  was  my  first  experience  of  an  echo 
of  that  sort  heard  from  above — perhaps  if  I  had  been 
below  there  would  have  been  no  echo — but  I  could 
not  understand  how  it  was  produced.  It  was  not 
like  other  echoes — exact  repetitions  of  the  sounds 
emitted  which  come  back  to  us  from  walls  and  woods 
and  cliffs — but  was  fainter  and  more  diffused,  the 
sounds  running  into  each  other  and  all  seeming  to 
run  over  the  flat  earth,  now  here,  now  there,  and  fading 
into  mysterious  whisperings.  It  was  as  if  the  vigorous 
barkings  of  the  living  dog  had  roused  the  ghosts  of 
scores  and  hundreds  of  perished  ones ;  that  they 
had  come  out  of  the  earth  and,  unable  to  resist  the 


60          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

contagion  of  his  example  and  the  "  memory  of  an 
ancient  joy,"  were  all  madly  barking  their  ghost 
barks  and  scampering  invisible  over  the  sands. 

The  chief  thing  to  see  was  the  crows  coming  in  to 
roost  from  about  four  to  six  o'clock,  arriving  con- 
tinually in  small  parties  of  from  two  or  three  to  thirty 
or  forty  birds,  until  it  was  quite  dark.  The  roosting- 
place  has  been  shifted  two  or  three  times  since  I  have 
known  the  wood,  and,  by  a  lucky  chance,  on  the  last 
occasion  of  their  going  to  a  fresh  place  I  witnessed 
the  removal  and  discovered  its  cause.  For  two  evenings 
I  had  noticed  a  good  deal  of  unrest  among  the  roosting 
birds.  This  would  begin  at  dusk,  after  they  were  all 
quietly  settled  down,  when  all  at  once  there  would  be 
an  outburst  of  loud  angry  cawings  at  one  point,  as 
unmistakable  in  its  meaning  as  that  sudden  storm  of 
indignation  and  protest  frequently  heard  in  one  part 
of  our  House  of  Commons  when  the  susceptibilities  of 
the  party  or  group  of  persons  sitting  together  at  that 
spot  have  been  wantonly  hurt  by  the  honourable 
member  addressing  the  House.  It  would  subside  only 
to  break  out  by-and-by  at  some  other  spot,  perhaps 
fifty  yards  away ;  and  at  some  points  the  birds  would 
rise  up  and  wheel  and  hover  overhead,  cawing  loudly 
for  a  minute  or  two  before  settling  down  again. 

I  concluded  that  it  was  some  creature  dangerous  to 
birds,  probably  a  fox,  prowling  about  among  the  trees 
and  creating  an  alarm  whenever  they  caught  sight  of 
him  ;  but  though  I  watched  for  an  hour  I  could  detect 
nothing. 


A  WOOD  BY  THE   SEA  61 

On  the  third  evening  the  disturbance  was  more  wide- 
spread and  persistent  than  usual,  until  the  birds  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  The  cawing  storms  had  been 
breaking  out  at  various  spots  over  an  area  of  many- 
acres  of  wood,  when  at  length  the  whole  vast  con- 
course rose  up  and  continued  hovering  and  flying  about 
for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  then  settled  once  more 
on  the  topmost  branches  of  the  pines.  Seen  from  the 
ridge  on  a  level  with  the  top  of  the  wood  the  birds 
presented  a  strange  sight,  perched  in  hundreds,  sitting 
upright  and  motionless,  looking  intensely  black  on 
the  black  tree-tops  against  the  pale  evening  sky.  By- 
and-by,  as  I  stood  in  a  green  drive  in  the  midst  of 
the  roos  ting-place,  a  fresh  tempest  of  alarm  broke  out 
at  some  distance  and  travelled  towards  me,  causing  the 
birds  to  rise  ;  and  suddenly  the  disturber  appeared, 
gliding  noiselessly  near  the  ground  with  many  quick 
doublings  among  the  boles — a  barn  owl,  looking 
strangely  white  among  the  black  trees !  A  little 
later  there  was  a  general  rising  of  the  entire  multitude 
with  a  great  uproar  ;  they  were  unable  to  stand  the 
appearance  of  that  mysterious  bird-shaped  white 
creature  gliding  about  under  their  roosting-trees  any 
longer.  For  a  minute  or  two  they  hovered  overhead, 
rising  higher  and  higher  in  the  darkening  sky,  then 
began  streaming  away  over  the  wood  to  settle  finally 
at  another  spot  about  half  a  mile  away ;  and  to  that 
new  roosting-place  they  returned  on  subsequent 
evenings. 

It  was  a  curious  thing  to  have  witnessed,  for  one 


62          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

does  not  think  of  this  bird — "  Hilarion's  servant,  the 
sage  Crow  " — as  a  nervous  creature,  subject  to  need- 
less alarms ;  but  a  few  evenings  later  I  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  witness  something  even  more  interesting.  In 
this  instance  a  pheasant  was  the  chief  actor,  a  species 
the  field  naturalist  is  apt  to  look  askance  at  because 
it  is  a  coddled  species  and  the  coddling  process  has 
incidentally  produced  a  disastrous  effect  on  our  native 
wild-bird  life.  Once  we  rid  our  minds  of  these  un- 
fortunate associations  we  recognize  that  this  stranger 
in  our  woods  is  not  only  of  a  splendid  appearance,  but 
has  that  which  is  infinitely  more  than  fine  feathers — 
the  intelligent  spirit,  the  mind,  that  is  in  a  bird. 

On  a  November  evening  I  came  out  of  the  wood  to 
a  nice  sheltered  spot  by  the  side  of  a  dyke  fringed  with 
sedges  and  yellow  reeds,  and  the  wide  green  marsh 
spread  out  before  me.  There  are  many  pheasants  in 
the  wood,  which  are  accustomed  to  feed  by  day  on 
the  marsh  or  meadow  lands ;  now  I  watched  them 
coming  in,  flying  and  running,  filling  the  wood  with 
noise  as  they  settled  in  their  roosting-trees,  clucking 
and  crowing.  In  a  little  while  they  grew  quiet,  and 
I  thought  that  all  were  at  home  and  abed ;  but  pre- 
sently, while  sweeping  the  level  green  expanse  with 
my  glasses,  I  spied  a  cock  pheasant  about  two  hundred 
yards  out,  standing  bunched  up  in  a  dejected  attitude 
at  the  side  of  a  dyke  and  wire  fence  with  a  few  bramble 
bushes  growing  by  it.  He  looked  sick,  perhaps  suffer- 
ing from  the  effects  of  a  stray  pellet  of  lead  in  his  body 
if  not  from  some  natural  disease.  I  watched  him  for 


A  WOOD  BY  THE  SEA  63 

twenty  or  twenty-five  minutes,  during  which  he  made 
not  the  slightest  motion.  Then  a  blackbird  shot  out 
from  the  wood,  passing  over  my  head,  and  flew  straight 
out  over  the  marsh,  and,  following  it  with  my  glasses, 
I  saw  it  pitch  on  the  bush  near  which  the  pheasant  was 
standing.  The  pheasant  instantly  put  up  his  head ; 
the  blackbird  then  flew  down  to  him,  and  immediately 
both  birds  began  moving  about  in  search  of  food,  the 
pheasant  stepping  quietly  over  the  sward,  pecking  as 
he  went ;  the  blackbird  making  his  quick  little  runs, 
now  to  this  side,  then  to  that,  then  on  ahead  and  at 
intervals  running  back  to  the  other.  Presently  the 
sudden  near  loud  cry  of  a  carrion-crow  flying  to  the 
wood  startled  the  blackbird,  and  he  rushed  away  to  the 
bush,  where  he  remained  perched  for  about  a  minute  ; 
the  other  was  not  startled,  but  he  at  once  left  off  feed- 
ing and  stood  motionless,  patiently  waiting  till  his  com- 
panion returned  to  him,  and  they  went  on  as  before. 
The  pheasant  now  discovered  something  to  his  taste, 
and  for  several  minutes  remained  still,  pecking  rapidly 
at  the  same  spot,  the  other  running  about  in  quest  of 
worms  until  he  found  and  succeeded  in  pulling  one  out 
and  spent  some  time  over  it ;  then  came  back  again 
to  the  pheasant. 

During  all  this  time  I  could  not  detect  any  other 
birds  from  the  wood,  not  even  a  thrush  that  feeds  latest, 
on  all  the  marsh ;  they  were  all  at  roost,  and  it  was 
impossible  not  to  believe  that  these  two  were  friends, 
accustomed  to  meet  at  that  spot  and  feed  together ; 
that  when  I  first  spied  the  pheasant,  standing  in  that 


64          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

listless  attitude  after  all  his  fellows  had  gone,  he  was 
waiting  for  his  little  black  comrade  and  would  not  have 
his  supper  without  him. 

It  was  getting  dark  when  the  blackbird  at  length 
flew  off  to  the  wood,  and  at  once  the  pheasant,  with 
head  up,  began  walking  in  the  same  direction  ;  then 
running  and  soon  launching  himself  on  the  air  he  flew 
straight  into  the  pines. 

My  experience  is  that  friendships  between  bird  and 
bird,  if  the  preference  of  two  individuals  for  each 
other's  company  can  be  described  by  that  word,  is  not 
at  all  uncommon,  though  I  usually  find  that  game- 
keepers "  don't  quite  seem  to  see  it."  That  is  only 
natural  in  their  case ;  it  is  but  a  reflex  effect  of  the 
gun  in  the  hand  on  the  keeper's  mind.  Yet  one  of  the 
keepers  on  the  estate,  to  whom  I  related  this  incident, 
although  inclined  to  shake  his  head,  told  me  he  had 
observed  a  ringed  dotterel  and  a  redshank  keeping 
company  for  a  space  of  two  or  three  months  last  year. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  see,  he  said,  what  close  friends 
they  were,  as  they  invariably  went  together  even  when 
feeding  with  other  shore  birds.  It  is  a  thing  we  notice 
sometimes  when  the  companionship  is  between  two 
birds  of  different  species,  but  it  is  probable  that  it  is 
far  more  common  among  those  of  the  same  species, 
and  that  among  the  gregarious  and  social  kinds  the 
unmated  ones  as  a  rule  have  their  chums  in  the  flock. 

The  friendship  I  observed  between  the  two  birds  at 
Wells  reminded  me  of  the  case  of  a  pheasant  who  had 
human  friends ;  it  is  the  only  instance  I  have  met 


A  WOOD  BY  THE  SEA  65 

with  of  a  pheasant  being  kept  as  a  household  pet, 
and  was  related  to  me  by  my  old  friend  the  late  Dr. 
Cunninghame  Geikie,  of  Bournemouth,  author  of 
religious  books.  The  bird  was  a  handsome  cock, 
owned  by  a  lady  of  that  place,  who  kept  it  for  many 
years — he  said  nineteen,  but  he  may  have  been  mistaken 
about  the  time.  The  main  thing  was  his  disposition, 
his  affection  for  his  people  and  the  fine  courage  he  dis- 
played in  protecting  them.  His  zeal  in  looking  after 
them  was  at  times  inconvenient.  He  was  particularly 
attached  to  his  mistress,  and  liked  to  attend  her  on  her 
walks,  and  made  himself  her  guardian.  But  he  was 
distrustful  of  strangers,  and  when  she  was  at  home 
he  would  keep  watch,  and  if  he  saw  a  visitor  approach- 
ing the  house — some  person  he  did  not  know — he  would 
boldly  sally  forth  to  meet  and  order  him  off  the 
premises  with  suitable  threatening  gestures,  which  if 
not  quickly  obeyed  would  be  followed  by  a  brisk 
attack,  the  blows,  with  spurs,  being  aimed  at  the 
intruder's  legs. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS 

SOME  lordly-minded  person  has  said  that  it  is  a  misuse 
or  an  abuse  of  the  word  to  describe  as  friendship  the 
distinct  preference  for  each  other's  company  and 
habitual  consorting  together  of  two  individuals  among 
the  lower  animals ;  because — this  wise  man  continues 
— being  lower  animals,  they  cannot  rise  to  the  height 
of  that  union  between  two  minds,  or  souls,  common 
among  men.  Where  then  does  the  capacity  for  this 
union  begin  ?  for  who  will  venture  to  say  that  the 
two-legged  upright  or  man-shaped  mammalian  of 
Tierra  del  Fuego  or  the  Andaman  Islands  or  of  the 
Aruwhimi  forest,  is  capable  of  a  feeling  beyond  the 
power  of  elephants,  dogs,  seals,  apes,  and  in  fact  of  all 
other  vertebrates — beasts,  birds,  reptiles,  and  fishes  ? 
There  is  no  broad  line  of  demarcation  between  our 
noble  selves  and  these  our  poor  relations — even  the 
wearers  of  feathers  and  scales.  We  have  had  to  learn, 
not  without  reluctance  and  a  secret  bitterness,  that 
even  our  best  and  highest  qualities  have  their  small 
beginnings  in  these  lowlier  beings.  That  union  or 
feeling  of  preference  and  attachment  of  an  individual 
towards  another  of  its  own  or  of  a  different  species, 

66 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  67 

which  I  first  began  to  observe  in  horses  during  my 
boyhood,  is,  like  play,  unconcerned  with  the  satis- 
faction of  bodily  wants  and  the  business  of  self- 
preservation  and  the  continuance  of  the  race.  It  is  a 
manifestation  of  something  higher  in  the  mind,  which 
shows  that  the  lower  animals  are  not  wholly  immersed 
in  the  struggle  for  existence,  that  they  are  capable 
in  a  small  way,  as  we  are  in  a  large  way,  of  escaping 
from  and  rising  above  it.  Friendship  is  in  fact  the 
highest  point  to  which  the  animal's  mind  can  rise. 
For  whereas  play,  which  has  its  origin  in  the  purely 
physical  state  of  well-being  and  in  instinctive  impulses 
universal  among  sentient  beings,  does  indirectly  serve 
a  purpose  in  the  animal's  life,  friendship  can  serve  no 
useful  purpose  whatever  and  is  the  isolated  act  of  an 
individual  which  clearly  shows  a  perception  on  his  part 
of  differences  in  the  character  of  other  individuals, 
also  the  will  and  power  to  choose  from  among  them  the 
one  with  which  he  finds  himself  most  in  harmony. 
Furthermore,  such  friendships  do  not  come  into  exist- 
ence inevitably,  or  automatically,  as  the  result  of  a 
feeling  on  the  part  of  an  individual :  the  feeling  must 
be  expressed  or  exhibited  and  approaches  made. 
These  may  or  may  not  be  accepted,  since  the  animal 
approached  has  a  will  of  his  own.  The  result  is  some- 
times a  very  one-sided  friendship,  as  in  the  case  of  an 
individual  who  forms  an  attachment  for  another  which 
is  like  an  infatuation,  and  who  is  happy  if  his  presence 
is  tolerated  and  who  will  go  on  day  after  day  for  weeks 
and  months  following  the  indifferent  one  about.  In 


68          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

other  cases  the  advances  are  resented,  and  if  persisted 
in  will  develop  a  quite  savage  animosity  in  their  object, 
resulting  in  bites  and  kicks  or  blows  with  whatever 
weapon  Nature  may  have  endowed  the  species. 

All  these  actions  may  be  easily  observed  in  our 
domestic  animals  and  are  common  enough,  although 
probably  not  nearly  so  common  in  England  as  in  the 
pastoral  countries  where  the  animals  are  not  housed 
and  fed  but  are  allowed  to  lead  a  semi- independent  life. 
I  have  said  that  I  first  observed  friendship  in  horses. 
We  usually  kept  fifteen  or  twenty,  and  as  the  country 
was  all  open  then,  our  horses  did  sometimes  take 
advantage  of  their  liberty  to  clear  out  altogether ; 
as  a  rule  they  kept  to  their  own  grazing  ground  within 
a  mile  or  so  of  home,  and  when  a  fresh  horse  or  horses 
were  wanted  some  one  was  sent  to  drive  the  troop  in. 
As  a  boy  who  wanted  to  spend  at  least  half  of  every  day 
on  horseback  I  went  after  the  troop  very  often  and 
grew  to  be  very  familiar  with  their  little  ways.  There 
were  always  horses  in  the  troop  that  went  in  couples, 
and  who  were  chums,  and  inseparable.  After  one  of 
a  couple  had  been  in  use  for  some  hours  or  for  a  day, 
on  being  liberated  he  would  gallop  off  in  quest  of  the 
troop  and  on  catching  sight  of  them  neigh  aloud  to 
announce  his  coming.  Then  his  chum  would  neigh 
in  response  and  start  off  at  a  trot  to  meet  him,  and 
meeting  him  the  two  would  stand  for  a  few  moments, 
touching  noses,  which  is  the  horse's  way  of  kissing  or 
expressing  affection.  They  would  then  go  quietly  back 
together  to  the  others  and  begin  grazing  side  by  side. 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  69 

This  book  has  birds  for  its  subject,  and  we  shall 
get  to  something  about  them  by-and-by  :  just  now 
I  want  to  emphasize  the  fact  of  a  feeling  and  union 
among  animals  generally,  which  is  in  its  nature 
identical  with  what  we  call  friendship  in  human  beings. 
The  fact  is  more  readily  accepted  when  we  treat  of 
mammals,  just  because  they  suckle  their  young  and  have 
hair  instead  of  feathers  to  clothe  them.  We,  evolu- 
tionists think,  were  hairy  too  in  our  far  past,  and  some 
mammals,  like  ourselves,  have  lost  their  hairy  cover- 
ing. That  some  animals  are  capable  of  a  strong 
affection  for  a  human  being  or  master  is  a  fact  familiar 
to  every  one ;  we  think  instantly  of  the  dog  in  this 
connexion ;  the  dog  is  indeed  commonly  described 
as  the  "  Friend  of  Man,"  but  if  the  description  implies 
a  superiority  in  this  respect  it  is  certainly  unjust  to 
other  species. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine  keeps  a  timber  wolf  as  a 
pet — the  biggest,  most  powerful,  probably  the  most 
ferocious  of  all  the  numerous  varieties  of  that  terrible 
beast.  Yet  his  owner  assures  me  that  his  wolf  is  as 
much  attached  to  him  as  any  dog  could  be  to  a  man, 
that  he  would  trust  him  as  he  would  the  most  in- 
telligent, affectionate,  and  gentlest-mannered  dog. 
Though  so  big,  this  wolf  is  privileged  to  lie  on  the 
hearthrug  at  his  feet,  and  if  there  are  children  about 
they  are  permitted  to  sit  on  or  roll  over  him,  to  pull 
his  ears  and  open  his  mighty  mouth  to  look  at  his 
fangs.  It  is  true  that  the  wolf  is  next  door  to  the  dog, 
but  the  fox  is  not  quite  so  near  a  neighbour  although 


70          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

he  lives  not  far  off ;  he  is  specialized  in  a  different 
direction,  and  on  account  of  this  specialization,  of  his 
nature,  his  genius,  one  would  hardly  suppose  him 
capable  of  a  very  close  friendship  with  a  human  master. 
Let  me  relate  here  the  story  of  Peter  the  fox,  for  the 
truth  of  which  I  vouch  although  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  give  the  name  and  address  of  its  owner. 

Peter's  mistress  is  a  lady  living  in  a  Shropshire 
village,  and  the  lady  and  fox  are  so  much  to  one  another 
that  they  are  not  happy  when  apart.  When  she  goes 
for  a  walk  or  to  make  a  call  she  takes  the  fox,  just  as 
Mary  took  her  little  lamb,  and  she  laughs  at  those 
who  say  warningly  that  a  fox  makes  a  dangerous  pet ; 
that  his  temper  is  uncertain  and  his  teeth  sharp  ;  also 
that  he  has  an  ineradicable  weakness  for  certain  things 
— things  with  feathers,  for  example.  Peter,  she 
affirms,  never  did  and  never  will  do  anything  he  ought 
not  to  do  and  is  moreover  the  sweetest-tempered  and 
most  affectionate  pet  that  any  person  ever  possessed. 

After  having  had  Peter  for  about  a  year  he  vanished 
and  his  loss  was  a  great  grief  to  her,  and  it  was  no 
consolation  to  be  told  by  her  friends  that  it  was  just 
what  they  had  thought  would  happen,  that  sooner  or 
later  the  call  of  the  wild  would  come  and  prove  irre- 
sistible. 

One  afternoon,  when  Peter  had  been  gone  several 
days,  she  remembered  him  and  was  heavy  at  heart  and 
it  then  first  came  into  her  mind  to  try  an  experiment. 
If  her  fox  still  lived,  she  thought,  where  would  he  be 
but  in  the  wood  a  mile  or  so  from  the  village  ?  There 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  71 

she  would  go  and  seek  for  him.     It  was  near  sunset 
when  she  reached  the  wood,  and  after  making  her  way 
to  its  innermost  part  she  stood  still  and  raising  her 
voice  to  its  highest  pitch  sent  forth  a  loud  shrill  call — 
Peter — Pee-ter — Peee-ter  !  and  then  waited.    By-and- 
by  she  heard  a  sound,  and  looking  in  the  direction  it 
came  from  she  spied  Peter  himself  coming  towards 
her  at  his  topmost  speed,  making  the  dead  leaves  fly 
about  him  with   the  wind  he  created ;    but  when 
he  got  to  her  there  was  no  touching  him,  though  she 
was  eager  to  clasp  her  dear  recovered  friend  in  her  arms, 
for  he  was  beside  himself  with  joy  and  could  only  rush 
round  and  round  her  in  a  wide  circle  and  then  charg- 
ing straight  at  her  leaped  clear  over  her  head,  and  then 
again,  and  then  a  third  time  !    This  sounds  incredible, 
but  the  lady  sticks  to  it  that  her  fox  did  accomplish 
this  feat,  and  says  that  she  was  astonished  at  the  sight 
of  its  transports  of  joy  at  finding  her.     Then,  when  he 
had  thus  worked  off  his  excitement,  they  went  home 
together,  Peter  trotting  along  at  her  side  and  breaking 
out  from  time  to  time  into  fresh  demonstrations  of 
delight  and  affection. 

Friendship  among  birds  is  less  remarked  than  it  is 
in  mammals,  simply,  I  believe,  because  their  inner 
life  is  less  openly  revealed  to  us ;  in  other  words,  be- 
cause they  have  wings  to  fly  with,  and  quicker,  brighter, 
more  variable  or  volatile  minds  to  match  the  ae'rial  life. 
Numbers  of  species  pair  for  life,  including  many  that 
are  gregarious ;  I  take  it  that  in  such  cases  the  bond 
wjiich  unites  male  and  female  throughout  the  year  is 


72          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

essentially  the  same  as  that  between  two  horses,  or 
goats,  or  cows,  or  llamas,  or  any  other  species,  wild 
or  domestic,  that  become  attached  to  one  another. 
The  union  is  different  in  origin,  but  once  the  sexual 
motive  is  over  and  done  with  the  life-partners  are  no 
more  than  friends  or  chums.  Again,  birds  being  so 
free  and  light  in  their  motions  do  not  keep  so  close 
together  as  mammals  do,  hence  a  comradeship  between 
two  in  a  crowd  is  not  easily  detected.  We  notice  and 
are  arrested  by  it  when  a  friendship  exists  between 
two  widely-different  species,  as  in  such  cases  as  those 
given  in  the  last  chapter  of  a  pheasant  and  a  blackbird, 
and  of  a  ringed  dotterel  and  a  redshank,  and  of  another 
I  observed  in  South  America  of  a  lesser  yellowshanks 
and  a  pectoral  sandpiper  who  were  inseparable,  even 
when  mixed  in  a  flock  of  their  own  species. 

Cases  of  birds  becoming  strongly  attached  to  a 
human  being  are  quite  common — so  common  indeed 
that  any  industrious  person  could  compile  a  volume  of 
them.  One  of  a  pheasant  and  a  lady  has  been  given 
in  the  last  chapter  and  I  had  set  down  several  more  to 
relate  in  this  one,  but  in  view  of  the  multiplicity  of 
subjects,  or  adventures,  to  be  treated  in  the  book 
they  must  be  left  out.  Or  all  but  one  given  here  for 
a  special  reason.  This  is  the  case  of  a  jackdaw  which 
was  found  last  year,  unable  to  fly,  and  taken  home  by 
a  boy  in  the  village  of  Tilshead  in  the  South  Wiltshire 
downs.  In  a  very  few  days  the  bird  recovered  from  his 
weakness  and  was  perfectly  well  and  able  to  fly  again, 
but  he  did  not  go  away  ;  and  the  reason  of  his  remain- 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  73 

ing  appeared  to  be  not  that  he  had  been  well  treated 
but  because  he  had  formed  an  extraordinary  attach- 
ment, not,  as  one  would  naturally  suppose,  to  the 
boy  who  had  rescued  and  fed  him  but  to  another, 
smaller  boy,  who  lived  in  the  next  cottage !  It  was 
quite  unmistakable ;  the  bird,  free  to  go  away  if 
he  liked,  began  to  spend  his  time  hanging  about  the 
cottage  of  his  chosen  little  friend.  He  wanted  to  be 
always  with  him,  and  when  the  children  went  to  school 
in  the  morning  the  daw  would  accompany  them,  and 
flying  into  the  schoolroom  after  them  settle  himself 
on  a  perch  where  he  would  sit  until  the  release  came. 
But  the  proceedings  were  always  too  long  for  his 
patience,  and  from  time  to  time  he  would  emit  a  loud 
caw  of  remonstrance,  which  would  set  the  children 
tittering,  and  eventually  he  was  turned  out  and  the 
door  shut  against  him.  He  then  took  to  sitting  on 
the  roof  until  school  was  over,  whereupon  he  would 
fly  down  to  the  shoulder  of  his  little  friend  and  go 
home  with  him.  In  the  same  way  he  would  follow 
his  friend  to  church  on  Sunday  morning,  but  even 
there  he  could  not  repress  his  loud  startling  caw, 
which  made  the  congregation  smile  and  cast  up  its 
eyes  at  the  roof.  My  friend  the  vicar,  who  by  the 
by  is  a  lover  of  birds,  could  not  tolerate  this,  and 
the  result  was  that  the  daw  had  to  be  caught  and  con- 
fined every  day  during  school  and  church  hours. 

There  are  three  or  four  more  jackdaw  anecdotes 
among  those  I  am  compelled  to  leave  out.  No  doubt 
some  species  of  birds  are  much  more  capable  of  these 


74          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

attachments  than  others :  thus,  the  bullfinch,  among 
caged  birds,  is  noted  for  his  affectionate  disposition 
and  many  instances  have  been  recorded  of  the  bird's 
death  from  pure  grief  after  losing  its  mistress.  The 
daw  too  is  a  bird  of  that  character,  in  spite  of  his 
wicked  little  grey  eyes  and  love  of  mischief.  Probably 
he  was  first  called  'Jack  on  account  of  his  human 
qualities ;  we  might  also  describe  him  as  the  Friendly 
Daw. 

I  have  told  this  story  just  to  show  that  it  is  not  in 
every  case,  as  some  imagine,  mere  cupboard  love  that 
inspires  an  attachment  of  this  kind. 

An  even  more  remarkable  case  than  that  of  the 
daw  remains  to  be  told.  A  friend  of  mine,  an  Anglo- 
Argentine  residing  at  Buenos  Ayres,  one  day  when  out 
duck-shooting  winged  a  teal,  one  of  a  common  species 
— Querquedula  flavirostris.  The  sight  and  feel  of 
the  bird  when  he  had  it  in  his  hand,  its  graceful  shape 
and  beautiful  plumage  and  the  bright  frightened 
eyes  and  beating  heart,  softened  him  so  that  he  could 
not  kill  it,  and  putting  it  in  his  bag  he  took  it  home ; 
and  after  bandaging  the  broken  wing  the  best  way  he 
could,  he  placed  the  bird  in  the  large  courtyard  and 
supplied  it  with  food  and  water.  In  a  short  time  its 
wound  healed  but  it  did  not  recover  its  power  of  flight 
and  made  no  attempt  to  escape.  It  became  perfectly 
tame  and  would  come  at  call  to  be  fed  or  caressed. 
The  strange  thing  was  that  although  all  the  people  of 
the  house  were  interested  in  the  teal  and  made  it  a 
pet,  its  whole  affection  was  given  to  the  man  who 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  75 

had  shot  it.  To  the  others  it  was  indifferent,  although 
they  were  always  in  the  house  taking  notice  of  and 
petting  it,  while  this  chosen  friend  was  absent  on  busi- 
ness in  the  city  every  day  from  morning  to  the  late 
afternoon.  The  teal  would  keep  near  him  when  he 
had  breakfast,  then  accompany  him  to  the  door  open- 
ing out  of  the  courtyard  to  the  street,  and  having  seen 
him  off  she  would  return  to  her  place  and  pass  her  day 
in  a  quiet  contented  manner  as  if  she  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  absent  one.  But  invariably  at  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  she  would  go  to  the  open 
street  door  to  wait  for  his  return,  and  if  he  was  an  hour 
or  so  late  she  would  sit  there  the  whole  time  on  the 
threshold,  her  beak  turned  city-wards,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  passers-by.  On  his  appearance  she  was 
all  joy  and  would  run  to  his  feet,  nodding  her  head 
and  flirting  her  wings  and  emitting  all  the  quacking 
and  other  curious  little  sounds  the  bird  uses  to  express 
its  happy  emotions.  Like  most  teals  it  is  a  loquacious 
bird,  and  very  excitable.  After  that  the  great  happi- 
ness of  the  teal  was  to  have  permission  to  sit  at  his 
feet,  when  he  settled  himself  in  his  chair  to  rest  and 
read.  She  would  actually  sit  on  his  foot. 

It  happened  that  some  years  ago  I  told  this  story  of 
the  teal  in  an  article  in  a  monthly  magazine.  My 
belief  was  that  it  was  a  very  strange  story,  that  the 
experience  of  my  Buenos  Ayres  friend  was  absolutely 
unique — for  who  would  have  imagined  that  any  other 
person  in  the  world  had  found  a  loved  and  affectionate 
pet  in  a  teal,  which  he  had  himself  shot  with  the 


76          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

intention  of  eating  it  ?  But  I  soon  received  a  letter 
from  a  gentleman  residing  in  South  Kensington  who 
said  he  had  read  the  incident  of  the  teal  with  astonish- 
ment, that  it  had  appeared  to  him  just  as  if  I  had  taken 
an  incident  which  occurred  in  South  Africa,  transferred 
it  to  South  America,  and  slightly  altering  the  circum- 
stances related  the  first  half  of  the  story.  My  inform- 
ant had  been  out  to  The  Cape,  and  while  there  went 
to  stay  with  a  friend  on  his  estate.  His  friend  told  him 
that  one  day  when  out  shooting  he  winged  a  teal  and 
on  picking  it  up  experienced  so  strong  a  pang  of  com- 
passion for  it  that  he  took  it  home  and  set  to  work  to 
bind  up  the  wound,  intending  if  the  bird  recovered 
the  use  of  its  wings  to  restore  it  to  liberty.  In  a  little 
while  the  teal  became  attached  to  him,  precisely  as 
in  the  case  I  had  described,  and  would  trot  about  after 
him  all  over  the  place  just  like  a  little  dog.  Eventually, 
when  pairing  time  came  round  again  the  teal  flew  away 
to  the  marshes,  for  it  had  recovered  the  full  use  of  its 
wings,  and  he  never  expected  to  see  or  at  all  events  to 
recognize  his  quacking  little  friend  again.  One  day 
when  out  shooting  he  had  his  eye  on  a  bunch  of  teal 
flying  past  at  a  considerable  distance  when  all  at  once 
one  of  the  birds  detached  itself  from  the  flock  and 
came  swiftly  towards  him  and  pitched  at  his  very 
feet !  It  was  his  lost  pet,  and  the  teal  appeared  as 
delighted  at  the  meeting  as  he  was.  After  staying 
with  him  a  few  minutes  expressing  its  pleasure  and 
receiving  caresses  it  flew  away  again  in  search  of  its 
companions.  Since  that  encounter  there  had  been 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  77 

others  at  long  intervals,  the  teal  always  recognizing  its 
old  master  and  friend  at  a  distance  and  flying  straight 
to  him,  but  it  had  never  returned  to  the  house. 

One  imagines  that  the  two  persons  concerned  in 
these  incidents,  one  in  South  Africa,  the  other  in 
South  America,  cannot  now  enjoy  eating  or  even 
shooting  teal  as  much  as  they  did  formerly. 

Friendships  between  bird  and  bird  of  the  same 
species,  if  we  exclude  the  companionship  of  such  as  pair 
for  life,  are  exceeding  difficult,  almost  impossible,  to 
detect  for  reasons  already  given.  If  it  were  not  so  we 
should  probably  find  as  many  pairs  of  inseparables  in 
any  flock  of  bachelor  chaffinches  in  winter  as  in  a  herd 
of  horses  or  cattle  existing  in  a  semi-feral  state. 

Another  thing  to  be  borne  in  mind  is  that  it  is 
possible  to  mistake  for  friendship  an  action  which,  at 
all  events  in  its  origin,  is  of  a  different  nature.  The 
following  cases  will  serve  as  illustrations. 

One  relates  to  an  exotic  species,  the  military  starling 
of  the  pampas — a  bird  of  a  social  disposition,  like 
most  of  its  family,  the  Troupials.  Breeding  over,  the 
birds  unite  in  large  flocks  and  lead  a  gipsy  life  on  the 
great  plains.  They  are  always  on  the  move,  the  flock 
presenting  an  extended  front,  the  beaks  and  scarlet 
breasts  all  turned  one  way,  the  hindmost  birds  con- 
tinually flying  forward  and  dropping  down  in  or  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  front  line.  It  is  a  pretty  spectacle, 
one  I  was  never  tired  of  seeing.  One  day  I  was  sitting 
on  my  horse  watching  a  flock  feeding  and  travelling 
in  their  leisurely  manner  when  I  noticed  a  little  dis- 


78          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

tance  behind  the  others  a  bird  sitting  motionless  on 
the  ground  and  two  others  keeping  close  to  it,  one  on 
each  side.  These  two  had  finished  examining  the 
ground  and  prodding  at  the  roots  of  the  grass  at  the 
spot,  and  were  now  anxious  to  go  forward  and  rejoin 
the  company,  but  were  held  back  by  the  other  one. 
On  my  going  to  them  they  all  flew  up  and  on,  and  I 
then  saw  that  the  one  that  had  hung  back  had  a  broken 
leg.  Perhaps  it  had  not  long  been  broken  and  he  had 
not  yet  accommodated  himself  to  the  changed  condi- 
tions in  which  he  had  to  get  about  on  the  ground  and 
find  his  food.  I  followed  and  found  that,  again  and 
again,  after  the  entire  scarlet-breasted  army  had  moved 
on,  the  lame  bird  remained  behind,  his  two  impatient 
but  faithful  companions  still  keeping  with  him.  They 
would  not  fly  until  he  flew,  and  when  on  the  wing  still 
kept  their  places  at  his  side  and  on  overtaking  the  flock 
all  three  would  drop  down  together. 

The  next  case  is  from  Penzance  and  was  told  to  me 
when  I  was  staying  there.  A  lady  of  that  town,  a 
member  of  one  of  its  oldest  and  most  distinguished 
families,  is  a  great  bird-lover  and  feeds  the  birds  during 
the  winter  on  her  lawn.  She  noticed  that  a  blackbird 
and  thrush  always  came  together  to  the  food,  and  then 
that  the  blackbird  fed  the  other,  picking  up  the  morsels 
and  placing  them  in  its  open  mouth.  In  looking  more 
closely  it  was  discovered  that  the  thrush  had  lost  its 
beak :  this  had  been  cut  off  close  to  the  head,  pro- 
bably by  a  steel  or  a  sudden-death  spring  trap,  such  as 
the  children  in  Cornwall  commonly  use  to  catch  or 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  79 

kill  small  birds.  The  bird  was  incapable  of  feeding 
itself. 

Another  case  of  a  beakless  bird  with  a  friend  was  told 
to  me  by  Mr.  E.  Selley  of  Sidmouth,  a  gardener  and 
local  naturalist.  His  father  kept  a  magpie  in  a  large 
hutch  surrounded  by  wires  through  which  small  birds 
would  pass  in  to  steal  the  food.  Among  these  was  a 
robin  that  had  lost  its  beak  in  a  steel  trap  ;  and  this 
bird  the  magpie  befriended  though  he  was  at  enmity 
with  the  others  and  hunted  them  out  of  his  house. 
The  robin  with  no  beak  to  peck  with  could  only  pick 
up  small  crumbs,  and  the  magpie  taking  a  piece  of 
bread  on  its  perch  would  pick  it  into  small  pieces  to 
feed  the  robin.  "  It  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale,"  said  Mr. 
Selley ;  it  is  however  a  very  credible  kind  of  fairy 
tale  to  those  who  know  a  bird. 

Yet  another  case  told  to  me  recently  by  a  friend  who 
was  himself  a  witness  to  it.  A  lark  was  kept  in  a  cage 
hanging  against  the  front  wall  of  the  house,  and  it  was 
noticed  that  some  sparrows  had  formed  the  habit  of 
clinging  to  the  wires  and  feeding  from  the  seed-box. 
To  stop  this  plundering  the  box  was  transferred  from 
the  front  to  the  back  of  the  cage,  where  it  was  well 
out  of  their  reach.  Nevertheless  their  visits  continued 
and  they  appeared  to  be  faring  as  well  as  ever.  With 
a  little  closer  watching  it  was  discovered  that  the  lark 
itself  was  feeding  them,  not  by  putting  the  seed  into 
their  beaks  but  by  conveying  it  from  the  box  to  the 
other  side  of  the  cage-floor  where  the  sparrows  could 
get  at  it. 


8o          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

I  take  it  that  in  these  instances  the  act  does  not  pro- 
ceed from  friendship  but  from  the  helping  instinct 
common  in  animals  of  social  habits.  We  know  it  best 
in  the  large  mammals — cattle,  swine,  peccaries,  deer, 
elephants,  and  many  more.  Even  the  unsocial  cat  will 
sometimes  feed  a  fellow-cat.  In  birds  it  appears  to 
have  its  origin  in  the  parental  instinct  of  feeding  and 
protecting  the  young  from  danger.  A  young  bird 
that  has  lost  its  parents  will  sometimes  find  a  response 
to  its  hunger-call  from  a  bird  stranger,  and  in  some 
instances  the  stranger  is  of  a  different  species.  It  may 
be  noted  here  that,  in  some  species,  the  incubating 
female  when  fed  by  the  male  reverts  to  the  hunger-cry 
and  gestures  of  the  young.  The  cry  of  distress  too  in 
an  old  bird,  when  captured  or  injured,  which  excites 
its  fellows  and  brings  them  to  its  rescue,  is  like  the  cry 
of  distress  and  terror  in  the  young. 

Many  other  cases  one  meets  with  of  a  close  com- 
panionship between  individuals  result  from  the  im- 
patience of  solitude  in  a  social  species.  So  intolerable 
is  loneliness  to  some  animals  that  they  will  attach  them- 
selves to  any  creature  they  can  scrape  acquaintance  with, 
without  regard  to  its  kind  or  habits  or  of  disparity  in 
size.  I  remember  a  case  of  this  kind  which  was  re- 
corded many  years  ago,  of  a  pony  confined  by  itself  in 
a  field  and  a  partridge — a  solitary  bird  who  was  perhaps 
the  only  one  of  its  species  in  that  place.  They  were 
always  to  be  seen  together,  the  partridge  keeping  with 
the  pony  where  he  grazed,  and  when  he  rested  from 
grazing  sitting  contentedly  at  his  feet.  No  doubt 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  81 

this  companionship  made  their  lonely  lives  less  irk- 
some. 

Another  even  stranger  case  must  be  told  in  con- 
clusion— the  sad  case  of  a  lonely  swan  in  search  of  a 
friend,  and  as  it  is  a  story  of  the  "  incredible  "  sort 
I  am  glad  I  have  permission  to  give  the  names  of  the 
persons  who  witnessed  the  affair.  The  place  is  Little 
Chelmsford  Hall,  near  Chelmsford,  and  the  witnesses 
are  Lady  Pennefather  and  her  friend  Miss  Guinness 
who  resides  with  her.  Near  the  house  there  is  an 
artificial  lake  of  considerable  length,  fed  by  a  stream 
which  flows  into  the  grounds  on  one  side  and  out  at 
the  other.  Lake  and  stream  are  stocked  with  trout. 
A  pair  of  swans  are  kept  on  the  lake  and  three  or  four 
years  ago  they  reared  a  single  young  one,  which  after 
some  months  when  it  was  fully  grown  they  began  to 
persecute.  The  young  swan  however  could  not 
endure  to  be  alone,  and  although  driven  furiously  off 
to  a  distance  a  hundred  times  a  day  he  would  still  re- 
turn. Eventually  he  was  punished  so  mercilessly  that 
he  gave  it  up  and  went  right  away  to  the  further  end 
of  the  lake  and  made  that  part  his  home.  About  this 
time  Miss  Guinness  started  making  a  series  of  water- 
colour  sketches  at  that  end  of  the  lake,  and  her  presence 
was  a  happiness  to  the  swan.  Invariably  on  her  ap- 
pearance he  would  start  swimming  rapidly  towards 
her,  then  leaving  the  water  he  would  follow  her  about 
until  she  sat  down  to  do  a  sketch,  whereupon  the  swan 
would  settle  itself  by  her  side  to  stay  contentedly  with 
her  until  she  finished.  This  went  on  for  five  or  six 
6 


82          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

weeks  till  the  sketching  was  done  and  Miss  Guinness 
went  away  on  a  visit.  Again  the  poor  bird  was  alone 
and  miserable  until  a  man  was  sent  to  work  in  the 
shrubbery  by  the  lake  and  at  once  the  swan  made  a 
companion  of  him  ;  each  morning  it  would  come  from 
the  lake  to  meet  him  to  spend  the  whole  day  in  his 
company.  In  due  time  the  work  was  finished  and 
the  man  went  away.  Once  more  the  swan  was  miser- 
able, and  it  made  the  lady  of  the  house  unhappy  to 
see  it,  so  anxious  appeared  the  bird  to  be  with  her 
whenever  she  went  near  the  lake,  so  distressed  when 
she  left  it.  All  at  once  there  was  a  change  in  its  be- 
haviour ;  it  was  no  longer  waiting  and  watching  for 
a  visitor  to  the  lake-side  and  ready  to  leave  the  water 
on  her  appearance.  It  now  appeared  quite  contented 
to  be  alone  and  would  rest  on  the  water  at  the  same 
spot  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  floating  motionless  or  else 
propelling  itself  with  such  a  slow  and  gentle  move- 
ment of  its  oars  as  to  make  it  appear  almost  stationary. 
It  was  an  astonishing  change  but  a  welcome  one,  as 
the  unhappiness  of  the  swan  had  begun  to  make  every- 
body feel  bad  and  now  it  looked  as  if  the  poor  bird 
had  become  reconciled  to  a  solitary  life.  A  little  later 
the  reason  of  this  change  appeared  when  the  extra- 
ordinary discovery  was  made  that  the  swan  was  not 
alone  after  all,  that  he  had  a  friend  who  was  constantly 
with  him — a  big  trout !  The  fish  had  his  place  at  the 
side  of  the  bird,  just  below  the  surface,  and  together 
they  would  rest  and  together  move  like  one  being. 
Those  who  first  saw  it  could  hardly  credit  the  evidence 


FRIENDSHIP  IN  ANIMALS  83 

of  their  own  senses,  but  in  a  short  time  they  became 
convinced  that  this  amazing  thing  had  come  to  pass 
that  these  two  ill-assorted  beings  had  actually  become 
companions. 

How  can  we  explain  it  ?  The  swan,  we  have  seen, 
was  in  a  state  of  misery  at  his  isolation  and  doubtless 
ready  to  attach  himself  to  and  find  a  solace  in  the  com- 
pany of  any  living  creature  on  land  or  in  the  water,  and 
a  fish  happened  to  be  the  only  creature  there.  But 

ow  about  the  trout  ?  I  can  only  suppose  that  he  got 
some  profit  out  of  the  partnership,  that  the  swan  when 
feeding  by  the  margin  accidentally  fed  the  trout  by 
shaking  small  insects  into  the  water,  and  that  in  this 
way  the  swan  became  associated  with  food  in  what 
we  are  pleased  to  call  the  trout's  mind.  The  biologist 
denies  that  it — the  poor  fish — has  a  mind  at  all,  since 
it  has  no  cortex  to  its  brain,  but  we  need  not  trouble 
ourselves  with  this  question  just  now.  I  also  think  it 
possible  that  the  swan  may  have  touched  or  stroked 
the  back  of  his  strange  friend  with  his  beak,  just  as  one 
swan  would*caress  another  swan,  and  that  this  contact 
was  grateful  to  the  trout.  Fish  have  as  much  delight 
in  being  gently  stroked  as  other  creatures  that  wear 
a  skin  or  scales.  I  have  picked  up  many  "  wild  worms 
in  woods "  and  many  a  wild  toad,  if  wild  toads  there 
be,  and  have  quickly  overcome  their  wildness  and  made 
them  contented  to  be  in  my  hands  by  gently  stroking 
them  on  the  back. 

The  sequel  remains  to  be  told.  There  came  to  the 
Hall  a  visitor  from  London,  who  being  a  keen  angler 


84          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

got  up  very  early  in  the  morning  and  went  to  the  lake 
to  try  and  get  a  trout  for  breakfast.  About  eight 
o'clock  he  returned  and  finding  his  hostess  down 
proudly  exhibited  to  her  a  magnificent  trout  he  had 
caught.  He  had  not  looked  for  such  a  big  one,  and 
he  would  never  forget  catching  this  particular  trout  for 
another  reason.  A  wonderful  thing  had  happened 
when  he  hooked  it.  One  of  the  swans  was  there  on  the 
water,  and  followed  the  fish  up  when  it  was  hooked, 
and  when  he  drew  it  to  land  the  swan  came  out  and 
dashed  at  and  attacked  him  with  the  greatest  fury. 
He  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  beat  her  off  !  "  Oh, 
what  a  pity  !  "  cried  the  lady.  "  You  have  killed  the 
poor  swan's  friend  !  " 

From  that  time  the  swan  was  more  unhappy  than 
ever ;  the  sight  of  it  became  positively  painful  to  my 
compassionate  friends,  and  by-and-by  hearing  of  an 
acquaintance  in  another  part  of  the  country  who  wanted 
a  swan  they  sent  it  to  him. 


CHAPTER    VIII 
THE  SACRED  BIRD 
Phasianus  Colcbicus 

IT  was  hardly  necessary  to  add  the  scientific  name 
to  any  British  species  spoken  of  as  "sacred."  Cer- 
tainly it  is  not  the  ibis  and  no  mistake  is  possible 
seeing  that  England  is  not  ancient  Egypt,  or  Hindustan, 
or  Samoa,  or  any  remote  barbarous  land,  where  certain 
of  the  creatures  are  regarded  with  a  kind  of  religious 
veneration.  We  call  our  familiar  pheasant  the  sacred 
bird  to  express  condemnation  of  the  persons  who 
devote  themselves  with  excessive  zeal  to  pheasant- 
preserving  for  the  sake  of  sport. 

To  shoot  a  pheasant  is  undoubtedly  the  best  way  to 
kill  it,  and  would  still  be  the  best  way — certainly  better 
than  wringing  its  neck — even  if  these  semi-domestic 
birds  were  wholly  domestic,  as  I  am  perfectly  sure  they 
were  in  the  time  of  the  Romans  who  first  introduced 
them  into  these  islands.  I  am  sure  of  it  because  this 
Asiatic  ground-bird,  which  in  two  thousand  years  has 
not  become  wholly  native,  and,  as  ornithologists  say, 
is  in  no  sense  an  English  bird,  could  not  have  existed 
and  been  abundant  in  the  conditions  which  prevailed 
in  Roman  times.  The  fact  that  pheasant  bones  come 
85 


86          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

next  in  quantity  to  those  of  the  domestic  fowl  in  the 
ash  and  bone  pits  examined  by  experts  during  the 
excavations  at  Silchester  shows  that  the  bird  was  a 
common  article  of  food.  The  country  about  Silchester 
was  a  vast  oak  forest  at  that  period,  probably  very 
sparsely  inhabited ;  a  portion  of  the  forest  exists  to 
this  day,  and  is  in  fact  one  of  my  favourite  haunts. 
The  fox,  stoat,  and  sparrowhawk  were  not  the  only 
enemies  of  the  pheasant  then  :  the  wolf  existed,  the 
wild  cat,  the  marten,  and  the  foumart ;  while  the  list 
of  rapacious  birds  included  the  eagle,  goshawk,  buzzard, 
kite,  hen-harrier,  peregrine  falcon,  and  hobby,  as  well 
as  all  the  species  which  still  survive,  only  in  very  much 
larger  numbers.  Then  there  were  the  crows  :  judging 
from  the  number  of  bones  of  the  raven  found  at  Sil- 
chester we  can  only  suppose  that  this  chief  and  most 
destructive  of  the  corvidae  was  a  protected  species  and 
existed  in  a  semi-domestic  state  and  was  extremely  abun- 
dant in  and  round  Calleva — probably  at  all  the  Roman 
stations.  It  is  probable  that  a  few  tame  pheasants 
escaped  from  time  to  time  into  the  woods,  also  some 
may  have  been  turned  out  in  the  hope  that  they  would 
become  acclimatised,  and  we  may  suppose  that  a  few 
of  the  most  hardy  birds  survived  and  continued  the 
species  until  later  times ;  but  for  hundreds  of  years 
succeeding  the  Romano-British  period  the  pheasant 
must  have  been  a  rarity  in  English  woods.  And  a 
rarity  it  remains  down  to  this  day  in  all  places  where 
it  is  left  to  itself,  in  spite  of  the  extermination  of  most 
of  its  natural  enemies.  Unhappily  for  England  the 


THE  SACRED  BIRD  87 

fashion  or  craze  for  this  bird  became  common  among 
landowners    in   recent  times — the  desire  to  make  it 
artificially  abundant  so  that  an  estate  which  yielded  a 
dozen  or  twenty  birds  a  year  to  the  sportsman  would 
be  made  to  yield  a  thousand.    This  necessitated  the 
destruction  of  all  the  wild  life  supposed  in  any  way 
and  in  any  degree  to  be  inimical  to  the  protected 
species.     Worse  still,  men  to  police  the  woods,  armed 
with  guns,  traps,  and  poison,  were  required.     Consider 
what  this  means — men  who  are  hired  to  provide  a 
big  head  of  game,  privileged  to  carry  a  gun  day  and 
night  all  the  year  round,  to  shoot  just  what  they  please  ! 
For  who  is  to  look  after  them  on  their  own  ground  to 
see  that  they  do  not  destroy  scheduled  species  ?     They 
must  be  always  shooting  something ;   that  is  simply  a 
reflex  effect  of  the  liberty  they  have  and  of  the  gun  in 
the  hand.     Killing  becomes  a  pleasure  to  them,  and 
with  or  without  reason  or  excuse  they  are  always  doing 
it — always  adding  to  the  list  of  creatures  to  be  extir- 
pated, and  when  these  fail  adding  others.     "  I  know 
perfectly  well,"  said  a  keeper  to  me,  "  that  the  nightjar 
is  harmless ;   I  don't  believe  a  word  about  its  swallow- 
ing pheasant's  eggs,  though  many  keepers  think  they 
do.     I  shoot  them,  it  is  true,  but  only  for  pleasure." 
So  it  has  come  about  that  wherever  pheasants  are  strictly 
preserved,  hawks — including  those  that  prey  on  mice, 
moles,   wasps,   and  small  birds ;    also  the  owls,   and 
all  the  birds  of  the  crow  family,  saving  the  rook  on 
account  of  the  landowner's  sentiment  in  its  favour ; 
and  after  them  the  nightjar  and  the  woodpeckers  and 


88          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

most  other  species  above  the  size  of  a  chaffinch — are 
treated  as  "  vermin."  The  case  of  the  keeper  who 
shot  all  the  nightingales  because  their  singing  kept 
the  pheasants  awake  at  night  sounds  like  a  fable.  But 
it  is  no  fable  ;  there  are  several  instances  of  this  having 
been  done,  all  well  authenticated. 

Here  is  another  case  which  came  under  my  own  eyes. 
It  is  of  an  old  heronry  in  a  southern  county,  in  the  park 
of  a  great  estate  about  which  there  was  some  litigation 
a  few  years  back.  On  my  last  visit  to  this  heronry  at 
the  breeding  season  I  found  the  nests  hanging  empty 
and  desolate  in  the  trees  near  the  great  house,  and 
was  told  that  the  new  head  keeper  had  persuaded  the 
great  nobleman  who  had  recently  come  into  possession 
of  the  estate  to  allow  him  to  kill  the  herons  because 
their  cries  frightened  the  pheasants.  They  were  shot 
on  the  nests  after  breeding  began  ;  yet  the  great  noble- 
man who  allowed  this  to  be  done  is  known  to  the 
world  as  a  humane  and  enlightened  man,  and,  I  hear, 
boasts  that  he  has  never  shot  a  bird  in  his  life  !  He 
allowed  it  to  be  done  because  he  wanted  pheasants  for 
his  sporting  friends  to  have  their  shoot  in  October, 
and  he  supposed  that  his  keeper  knew  best  what  should 
be  done. 

Another  instance,  also  on  a  great  estate  of  a  great 
nobleman  in  southern  England.  Throughout  a  long 
mid- June  day  I  heard  the  sound  of  firing  in  the  woods, 
beginning  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
lasting  until  dark.  The  shooters  ranged  over  the  whole 
woods ;  I  had  never,  even  in  October,  heard  so  much 


THE  SACRED  BIRD  89 

firing  on  an  estate  in  one  day.  I  enquired  of  several 
persons,  some  employed  on  the  estate,  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  all  this  firing,  and  was  told  that  the  keeper  was 
ridding  the  woods  of  some  of  the  vermin.  More  than 
that  they  refused  to  say ;  but  by-and-by  I  found  a 
person  to  tell  me  just  what  had  happened.  The 
head  keeper  had  got  twenty  or  thirty  persons,  the  men 
with  guns  and  a  number  of  lads  with  long  poles  with 
hooks  to  pull  nests  down,  and  had  set  himself  to  rid 
the  woods  of  birds  that  were  not  wanted.  All  the 
nests  found,  of  whatever  species,  were  pulled  down, 
and  all  doves,  woodpeckers,  nuthatches,  blackbirds, 
missel  and  song  thrushes,  shot ;  also  chaffinches  and 
many  other  small  birds.  The  keeper  said  he  was  not 
going  to  have  the  place  swarming  with  birds  that  were 
no  good  for  anything,  and  were  always  eating  the 
pheasants'  food.  The  odd  thing  in  this  case  was  that 
the  owner  of  the  estate  and  his  son,  a  distinguished 
member  of  the  House  of  Commons,  are  both  great 
bird-lovers,  and  at  the  very  time  that  this  hideous 
massacre  in  mid-June  was  going  on  they  were  telling 
their  friends  in  London  that  a  pair  of  birds  of  a  fine 
species,  long  extirpated  in  southern  England,  had  come 
to  their  woods  to  breed.  A  little  later  the  head  keeper 
reported  that  these  same  fine  birds  had  mysteriously 
disappeared  ! 

One  more  case,  again  from  an  estate  in  a  southern 
county,  the  shooting  of  which  was  let  to  a  gentleman 
who  is  greatly  interested  in  the  preservation  of  rare 
birds,  especially  the  hawks.  I  knew  the  ground  well, 


90          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

having  received  permission  from  the  owner  to  go 
where  I  liked:  I  also  knew  the  keepers  and  (like  a 
fool)  believed  they  would  carry  out  the  instructions  of 
their  master.  I  informed  them  that  a  pair  of  hobby- 
hawks  were  breeding  in  a  clump  of  trees  on  the  edge 
of  the  park,  and  asked  them  to  be  careful  not  to  mistake 
them  for  sparrowhawks.  At  the  same  time  I  told 
them  that  a  pair  of  Montagu's  harriers  were  con- 
stantly to  be  seen  at  a  lonely  marshy  spot  in  the  woods, 
a  mile  from  the  park ;  I  had  been  watching  them  for 
three  days  at  that  spot  and  believed  they  were  nesting. 
I  also  told  them  where  a  pair  of  great  spotted  wood- 
peckers were  breeding  in  the  woods.  They  promised 
to  "  keep  an  eye  "  on  the  hawks,  and  I  daresay  they 
did,  seeing  that  both  hobbys  and  harriers  had  vanished 
in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days.  But  they  would 
not  promise  to  save  the  woodpeckers :  one  of  the 
under-keepers  had  been  asked  by  a  lady  to  get  her  a 
few  pretty  birds  to  put  in  a  glass  case,  and  the  head 
keeper  told  him  he  could  have  these  woodpeckers. 

Did  I  in  these  cases  inform  the  owner  and  the  shoot- 
ing-tenant of  what  had  happened  ?  No,  and  for  a 
very  good  reason.  Nothing  ever  comes  of  such  telling 
except  a  burst  of  rage  on  the  part  of  the  owner  against 
all  keepers  and  all  interfering  persons,  which  lasts  for 
an  hour  or  so,  and  then  all  goes  on  as  before.  I  have 
never  known  a  keeper  to  be  discharged  except  for  the 
one  offence  of  dealing  in  game  and  eggs  on  his  own 
account.  In  everything  else  he  has  a  free  hand  ;  if  it 
is  not  given  him  he  takes  it,  and  there  is  nothing  he 


THE  SACRED  BIRD  91 

resents  so  much  as  being  interfered  with  or  advised  or 
instructed  as  to  what  species  he  is  to  spare.  Tell 
him  to  spare  an  owl  or  a  kestrel  and  he  instantly  re- 
solves to  kill  it ;  and  if  you  are  such  a  faddist  as  to 
want  to  preserve  everything  he  will  go  so  far  as  to 
summon  his  little  crowd  of  humble  followers  and 
parasites  and  set  them  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  all  the 
wild  life  in  the  woods,  as  in  the  instance  I  have  de- 
scribed. No,  it  is  mere  waste  of  energy  to  inform 
individual  owners  of  such  abuses.  The  craze  exists 
for  a  big  head  of  game,  or  rather  of  this  exotic  bird  of 
the  woods,  called  in  scorn  and  disgust  the  "  sacred 
bird  "  by  one  who  was  himself  a  naturalist  and  sports- 
man ;  the  owners  are  themselves  responsible  for  the 
system  and  have  created  the  class  of  men  necessary 
to  enable  them  to  follow  this  degraded  form  of  sport. 
I  use  the  word  advisedly  :  Mr.  A.  Stuart- Wortley,  the 
best  authority  I  know  on  the  subject,  an  enthusiast 
himself,  mournfully  acknowledges  in  his  book  on  the 
pheasant  that  pheasant  shooting  as  now  almost  univer- 
sally conducted  in  England  is  not  sport  at  all. 

One  odd  result  of  this  over-protection  of  an  exotic 
species  and  consequent  degradation  of  the  woodlands 
is  that  the  bird  itself  becomes  a  thing  disliked  by  the 
lover  of  nature.  No  doubt  it  is  an  irrational  feeling, 
but  a  very  natural  one  nevertheless,  seeing  that  what- 
soever is  prized  and  cherished  by  our  enemy,  or  the 
being  who  injures  us,  must  come  in  for  something  of 
the  feeling  he  inspires.  There  is  always  an  overflow. 
Personally  I  detest  the  sight  of  semi-domestic  pheasants 


92          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

in  the  preserves ;  the  bird  itself  is  hateful,  and  is  the 
one  species  I  devoutly  wish  to  see  exterminated  in 
the  land. 

But  when  I  find  this  same  bird  where  he  exists  com- 
paratively in  a  state  of  nature,  and  takes  his  chance 
with  the  other  wild  creatures,  the  sight  of  him  affords 
me  keen  pleasure  :  especially  in  October  and  No- 
vember when  the  change  in  the  colour  of  the  leaf  all 
at  once  makes  this  familiar  world  seem  like  an  enchanted 
region.  We  look  each  year  for  the  change  and  know  it 
is  near,  yet  when  it  comes  it  will  be  as  though  we  now 
first  witnessed  that  marvellous  transformation — the 
glory  in  the  high  beechen  woods  on  downs  and  hill- 
sides, of  innumerable  oaks  on  the  wide  level  weald,  and 
elms  and  maples  and  birches  and  ancient  gnarled 
thorns,  with  tangle  of  vari-coloured  brambles  and  ivy 
with  leaves  like  dark  malachite,  and  light  green  and 
silvery  grey  of  old-man's-beard.  In  that  aspect  of 
nature  the  pheasant  no  longer  seems  an  importation 
from  some  brighter  land,  a  stranger  to  our  woods, 
startlingly  unlike  our  wild  native  ground-birds  in  their 
sober  protective  colouring,  and  out  of  harmony  with 
the  surroundings.  The  most  brilliant  plumage  seen 
in  the  tropics  would  not  appear  excessive  then,  when 
the  thin  dry  leaves  on  the  trees,  rendered  translucent 
by  the  sunbeams,  shine  like  coloured  glass,  and  when 
the  bird  is  seen  in  some  glade  or  opening  on  a  wood- 
land floor  strewn  with  yellow  gold  and  burnished 
red,  copper  and  brightest  russet  leaves.  He  is  one 
with  it  all,  a  part  of  that  splendour,  and  a  beautifully 


THE  SACRED  BIRD  93 

decorative  figure  as  he  moves  slowly  with  deliberate 
jetting  gait,  or  stands  at  attention,  the  eared  head  and 
shining  neck  raised  and  one  foot  lifted.  Many  a  writer 
has  tried  to  paint  him  in  words ;  perhaps  Ruskin  alone 
succeeds,  in  a  passage  which  was  intended  to  be  de- 
scriptive of  the  colouring  of  the  pheasants  generally. 
"  Their  plumage,"  he  said,  "  is  for  the  most  part  warm 
brown,  delicately  and  even  beautifully  spotty  ;  and  in 
the  goodliest  species  the  spots  become  variegated, 
or  inlaid  as  in  a  Byzantine  pavement,  deepening  into 
imperial  purple  and  azure,  and  lighting  into  lustre  of 
innumerable  eyes." 

But  alas !  not  infrequently  when  I  have  seen  the 
pheasant  in  that  way  in  the  coloured  woods  in  October, 
when  after  the  annual  moult  his  own  colouring  is 
richest  and  he  is  seen  at  his  best,  my  delight  has 
vanished  when  I  have  lifted  my  eyes  to  look  through 
the  thinned  foliage  at  the  distant  prospect  of  earth 
and  the  blue  overarching  sky.  For  who  that  has 
ever  looked  at  nature  in  other  regions,  where  this 
perpetual  hideous  war  of  extermination  against  all 
noble  feathered  life  is  not  carried  on,  does  not  miss 
the  great  soaring  bird  in  the  scene — eagle,  or  vulture, 
or  buzzard,  or  kite,  or  harrier — floating  at  ease  on 
broad  vans,  or  rising  heavenwards  in  vast  and  ever- 
vaster  circles  ?  That  is  the  one  object  in  nature  which 
has  the  effect  of  widening  the  prospect  just  as  if  the 
spectator  had  himself  been  miraculously  raised  to  a 
greater  altitude,  while  at  the  same  time  the  blue  dome 
of  the  sky  appears  to  be  lifted  to  an  immeasurable 


94          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

height  above  him.  The  soaring  figure  reveals  to  sight 
and  mind  the  immensity  and  glory  of  the  visible  world. 
Without  it  the  blue  sky  can  never  seem  sublime. 

But  the  great  soaring  bird  is  nowhere  in  our  lonely 
skies,  and  missing  it  we  remember  the  reason  of  its 
absence  and  realise  what  the  modern  craze  for  the 
artificially  reared  pheasant  has  cost  us. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  TIRED  TRAVELLER 

(T urdus  iliacus) 

IT  was  fine  weather  on  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of 
November  on  the  east  coast.  Coming  out,  I  looked 
for  grey  clouds  travelling  before  a  biting  wind,  a  grey 
clammy  mist  brooding  on  the  flat  desolate  land,  and 
found,  instead,  a  clear  day  without  a  vapour,  the 
sun  shining  very  brightly,  the  air  almost  still  and 
deliciously  warm.  It  was,  for  November,  the  most 
perfect  day  I  could  have  had  for  a  ramble  on  the  grey 
flat  saltings  between  Wells-next-the-Sea  and  Stifflkey : 
they  are  not  as  in  summer  at  this  time  of  year,  but  have 
the  compensating  charm  of  solitariness.  I  had  them 
all  to  myself  on  that  morning ;  there  was  no  sound  of 
human  life  except  the  church  bells,  the  chimes  coming 
faintly  and  musically  over  the  wide  marshes.  Even 
the  birds  were  few.  From  time  to  time  a  hooded 
or  carrion  crow  flew  by  with  his  sullen  kra-kra,  or  a 
ringed  dotterel  started  up  from  a  creek  or  pool  before 
me  and  went  away  with  his  wild  melancholy  cry. 
Only  the  larks  were  singing  everywhere  about  me ; 
but  it  was  their  winter  song — a  medley  of  harsh  and 
guttural  sounds,  without  the  clear,  piercing,  insistent 
95 


96          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

summer  note  ;  nor  do  they  rise  high  at  this  season,  but 
after  fluttering  upwards  a  distance  of  forty  of  fifty 
yards  drop  again  to  earth. 

Seawards  I  had  for  horizon  the  low  ridge  of  the 
sandhills  overgrown  with  coarse  grey-green  grass,  and 
when  on  the  ridge  itself  I  looked  over  a  vast  stretch  of 
yellowish-brown  sand ;  for  it  was  low  tide,  with  the 
sea  visible  as  a  white  line  of  foam  and  the  gleam  of 
water  more  than  a  mile  away.  Here  on  the  sandy 
ridge  there  is  an  old  sea-ruined  coastguard  station,  and, 
coming  to  it,  I  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  brushwood  at  the 
side  of  the  half-fallen  buildings,  and  after  I  had  been 
there  two  or  three  minutes  a  bird  fluttered  up  from  the 
grass  close  to  my  feet  and  perched  on  the  wood  three 
or  four  yards  from  me.  A  redwing  !  A  tired  traveller 
from  the  north,  he  had  no  doubt  arrived  at  that  spot 
during  the  night,  and  was  waiting  to  recover  from  his 
great  fatigue  before  continuing  his  journey  inland. 
He  must  have  been  very  tired  ro  remain  by  himself 
in  such  beautiful  weather  at  that  spot,  when,  close  by 
on  the  further  side  of  the  salt  grey  marsh,  the  green 
wooded  country,  blue  in  the  haze,  was  so  plainly 
visible.  For  the  redwing  is  a  most  sociable  bird,  and 
so  long  as  his  wings  can  bear  him  up  he  cannot  endure 
to  be  left  behind.  Furthermore,  he  is  exceedingly 
shy  of  the  human  form,  especially  when  he  first  arrives 
on  our  shores ;  yet  here  was  this  shy  bird,  alone  and 
sitting  very  quietly,  within  three  or  four  yards  of  me  ! 
Still,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  a  little  troubled  at 
my  presence,  a  little  suspicious,  from  the  way  he  eyed 


A  TIRED  TRAVELLER  97 

me,  flirting  his  tail  and  wings ;  and  once  or  twice, 
opening  wide  his  beak,  he  uttered  his  alarm-note,  a 
sound  closely  resembling  the  harsh,  prolonged  cry 
of  the  familiar  missel  thrush.  But  these  little  signs 
of  alarm  were  soon  over,  and  he  grew  quiet,  only  con- 
tinuing to  emit  his  low  musical  chirp  a  dozen  or  more 
times  a  minute. 

To  me  the  meeting  was  a  peculiarly  happy  one,  since 
if  I  had  been  asked  to  choose  a  bird,  one  of  our 
common  winter  visitors,  to  be  with  me  in  this 
quiet,  lonely  place,  I  think  I  should  have  said  "  Let 
it  be  a  redwing."  He  has  a  special  attraction  for  me 
for  various  reasons.  He  is,  I  think,  the  most  charming 
of  the  thrushes,  both  in  shape  and  colouring.  All 
of  this  family  are  dear  to  me,  and  I  perhaps  admire 
the  others  more — the  fieldfare,  for  instance,  the 
chattering  winter  "  blue-bird " ;  and  the  missel- 
thrush,  the  loud-voiced  storm-cock  that  sings  in  wet 
and  blowy  weather  in  February ;  and,  above  all,  the 
blackbird,  the  big,  ebony-black  thrush  with  a  golden 
bill  and  fluting  voice ;  but  I  love  the  redwing  more. 
There  is  a  wildness,  a  freshness,  in  the  feeling  he  gives 
me  which  may  be  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  is  not 
a  cage-bird,  that,  on  this  account,  there  are  no  degrad- 
ing images  and  associations  connected  with  this  species. 
It  is  true  that  he  is  a  sweet  singer,  the  "  Swedish 
nightingale  "  of  Linnaeus,  but  he  only  sings  his  full 
song  with  the  louder  notes  at  home,  in  summer,  in  the 
distant  north ;  and  on  this  account  those  dreariest 
Philistines,  the  bird  fanciers  or  "  aviculturists,"  as  they 
7 


98          ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

are  beginning  to  call  themselves,  who  love  a  bird 
only  when  they  hold  it  in  the  hateful  cage,  the  most 
iniquitous  of  man's  many  inventions,  have  so  far 
neglected  this  thrush.  All  the  images  called  up  by 
the  redwing,  the  sight  or  sound  or  thought  of  him, 
are  of  rural  winter  scenes,  and  are  pleasing,  especially 
those  of  the  evening  gatherings  of  redwings  in  copse  or 
shrubbery ;  for,  like  the  linnet  and  starling,  they 
love  to  hold  a  kind  of  concert,  or  grand  musical  con- 
fabulation or  corroboree,  in  which  all  the  birds  chirp, 
twitter  and  scream  together  before  settling  down  to 
sleep  in  the  evergreens,  which  look  black  in  the  twilight 
against  the  luminous  evening  sky.  In  my  case  there 
are  still  other  associations,  for  it  happens  that  the 
soft  musical  chirp  of  the  redwing  reminds  me  vividly 
of  other  birds  which  have  a  sound  resembling  it, 
birds  that  were  dear  to  me  in  my  boyhood  and  youth  ; 
one  a  true  thrush,  another  the  social  military  starling  of 
the  grassy  pampas  and  Patagonia.  That  dark  bird 
with  the  scarlet  breast  and  beautiful  voice  was  to  me, 
in  winter  time  in  that  distant  land,  what  the  redwing 
is  to  many  an  English  boy. 

Now  as  I  rested  there  against  the  pile  of  brushwood 
on  which  he  sat  so  near  me  he  continued  to  emit  these 
soft  low  chirping  notes  or  little  drops  of  musical 
sound ;  and  it  seemed  in  part  a  questioning  note,  as 
if  he  was  asking  me  what  I  was  ?  Why  I  regarded 
him  so  attentively  ?  What  were  my  intentions  to- 
wards him  ?  And  in  part  it  was  a  soliloquy,  and  this 
was  how  I  interpreted  what  he  appeared  to  be  saying  : 


A  TIRED  TRAVELLER  99 

"  What  has  come  to  me — what  ails  me  that  I  cannot 
continue  my  journey  ?  The  sun  is  now  as  high  as  it 
will  be  :  the  green  country  is  so  near — a  few  minutes' 
flight  would  carry  me  across  this  flat  sea-marsh  to  the 
woods  and  thickets  where  there  are  safety  and  the 
moist  green  fields  to  feed  in.  Yet  I  dare  not  venture. 
Hark  !  that  is  the  hooded  crow  ;  he  is  everywhere  roam- 
ing about  over  the  marshland  in  quest  of  small  crabs 
and  carrion  left  by  the  tide  in  the  creeks.  He  would 
detect  this  weakness  I  find  in  me  which  would  cause 
me  to  travel  near  the  surface  with  a  languid  flight ; 
and  if  he  saw  and  gave  chase,  knowing  me  to  be  a  sick 
straggler,  my  heart  would  fail  and  there  would  be 
no  escape.  Day  and  night  I  have  flown  southwards 
from  that  distant  place  where  my  home  and  nest  was  in 
the  birches,  where  with  my  mate  and  young  and  all 
my  neighbours  we  lived  happily  together,  and  finally 
set  out  together  on  this  journey.  Yesterday  when  it 
grew  dark  we  were  over  the  sea,  flying  very  high  ;  there 
was  little  wind,  and  it  was  against  us,  and  even  at  a 
great  height  the  air  seemed  heavy.  And  it  grew  black 
with  clouds  that  were  above  us,  and  we  were  wetted 
with  heavy  rain  ;  it  ceased  and  the  blackness  went 
by,  and  we  found  that  we  had  dropped  far,  far  down 
and  were  near  the  sea.  It  was  a  quiet  sea,  and  the  sky 
had  grown  very  clear,  sprinkled  with  brilliant  stars  as 
on  a  night  of  frost,  and  the  stars  were  reflected  below 
us  so  that  we  seemed  to  be  flying  between  two  starry 
skies,  one  above  and  one  beneath.  I  was  frightened 
at  that  moving,  black,  gleaming  sky  beneath  me,  and 


ioo        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

felt  now  that  I  was  tired,  and  when  the  flock  rose 
higher  and  still  higher  I  laboured  to  rise  with  it.  At 
intervals  those  who  were  leading  uttered  cries  to  pre- 
vent the  others  from  straggling,  and  from  far  and 
near  there  were  responsive  cries ;  but  from  the  time 
that  the  dark,  wetting  cloud  had  come  over  us  I  uttered 
no  sound.  Sometimes  I  opened  my  beak  and  tried  to 
cry,  but  no  cry  came  ;  and  sometimes  as  we  flew  my 
eyes  closed,  then  my  wings,  and  for  a  moment  all 
sensation  was  lost,  and  I  would  wake  to  find  myself 
dropping,  and  would  flutter  and  struggle  to  rise  and 
overtake  the  others.  At  last  a  change  came,  a  sudden 
warmth  and  sense  of  land,  a  solid  blackness  instead  of 
the  moving,  gleaming  sea  beneath  us,  and  immediately 
we  dropped  earthwards  like  falling  stones,  down  into 
the  long  grass  by  the  shore.  Oh,  the  relief  it  was  to 
fold  my  wings  at  last,  to  feel  the  ground  under  me,  the 
close,  sheltering  stems  round  and  over  me,  to  shut 
my  tired  eyes  and  feel  no  more  ! 

"  When  morning  came,  the  cries  of  my  fellows  woke 
me  :  they  were  calling  us  up  and  going  away  over  the 
marshes  to  the  green  country ;  but  I  could  not  follow 
nor  make  any  response  to  their  calls.  I  closed  my  eyes 
again,  and  knew  no  more  until  the  sun  was  high  above 
the  horizon.  All  were  gone  then — even  my  own 
mate  had  left  me  ;  nor  did  they  know  I  was  hidden 
here  in  the  grass,  seeing  that  I  had  not  answered  to 
the  call.  They  thought  perhaps  that  I  had  fallen  out 
a  long  way  back,  when  the  rain  oppressed  and  drove 
us  down  and  when  probably  other  members  of  the 


A  TIRED  TRAVELLER  101 

flock  dropped  exhausted  into  the  sea.  They  could 
not  remain  here  in  this  treeless  exposed  place,  where 
the  water  is  salt  and  there  is  little  food  to  find.  I  was 
looking  for  something  to  eat  at  the  roots  of  the  grasses 
when  this  man  appeared  and  caused  me  to  flutter  up 
to  my  perch.  Had  this  strange  weakness  not  been  in 
me  I  should  have  rushed  away  in  the  greatest  terror 
on  seeing  him  so  near  ;  for  we  are  exceedingly  shy  of 
man,  fearing  him  even  more  than  hawk  or  hooded 
crow.  But  my  weakness  would  not  allow  me  to  fly, 
and  now  I  have  lost  my  fear,  for  though  he  continues 
to  watch  me  it  is  plain  that  he  has  no  intention  of 
harming  me." 

Having  finished  this  little  rambling  talk  to  himself, 
a  review  of  his  late  experiences  and  present  condition, 
he  once  more  attempted  to  fly,  but  settled  again  on  a 
stick  not  twenty  yards  away,  and  there  he  appeared  dis- 
posed to  stay,  his  head  well  drawn  in,  the  beak  raised, 
his  bright  eyes  commanding  a  view  of  the  wide  sky 
above.  He  would  be  able  to  see  a  flock  of  passing  red- 
wings and  call  to  them,  and  if  the  feeble  sound  reached 
them  it  would  perhaps  bring  them  down  to  have 
speech  with  and  cheer  him  in  his  loneliness.  He  would 
also  be  able  to  catch  sight  of  a  prowling  crow  coming 
his  way ;  for  he  feared  the  crow,  knowing  it  for  an 
enemy  of  the  weak  and  ailing,  and  would  have  time 
to  hide  himself  in  the  long  grass. 

There  I  left  him,  going  away  along  the  shore,  but  an 
hour  or  two  later  I  returned  to  the  same  spot,  coming 
over  the  wide  sands,  and  lo  !  where  I  had  left  one  red- 


102        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

wing  there  were  now  two.  One  flew  wildly  away  at 
my  approach  to  a  distance  of  eighty  or  a  hundred 
yards  before  alighting  again ;  the  other  remained, 
and  when  I  drew  near  it  again  moved  on  its  perch, 
a  little  alarmed  as  at  first,  flirting  its  wings  and  tail 
and  once  uttering  its  call  note ;  and  then,  recovering 
from  its  fear,  it  began  uttering  little  chirps  as  before. 
Those  tender  little  musical  sounds,  reminiscent  of 
vanished  days  in  distant  lands,  were  somewhat  sad, 
as  if  the  bird  complained  at  being  left  alone.  But  his 
mate  had  not  forsaken  him  after  all,  or  perhaps  she  had 
gone  on  with  the  others  and  then  returned  to  look  for 
him  at  the  last  roosting-place. 

Having  found  my  bird,  I  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  our  second  meeting.  I  had  never  had  an 
opportunity  of  looking  at  a  redwing  so  closely  before 
in  such  a  favourable  light,  and,  seeing  it  in  that  way, 
I  found  it  a  more  beautiful  bird  than  I  had  thought 
it.  Perched  at  a  height  of  above  five  feet,  it  was  seen 
against  the  pale  sky  in  that  soft  sunlight,  pale  but 
crystal  clear,  and  its  eyes  and  every  delicate  shade  in 
its  colouring  were  distinctly  visible.  The  upper 
parts  were  olive-brown,  as  in  the  throstle,  but  the 
cream-coloured  band  over  the  large  dark  eye  made  it 
very  unlike  that  bird  ;  the  dark  spotted  under-parts 
were  cream-white,  tinged  with  buff,  the  flanks  bright 
chestnut-red.  I  could  not  have  seen  it  better,  nor  so 
well,  if  I  had  held  it  dead  with  glazed  eyes  in  my  hand  ; 
but  the  dead  bird,  however  brilliant  in  its  colours  it 
may  be,  I  cannot  admire.  It  is  beautiful  nevertheless, 


A  TIRED  TRAVELLER  103 

it  may  be  said,  because  of  the  colour  and  the  form.  Ah 
yes,  but  it  is  dead,  and  what  I  see  and  hold  is  but  the 
case,  the  habit,  of  the  living,  intelligent  spirit  which 
is  no  more.  This  gold-red  hair,  which  sparkles  like 
gold  in  the  sunlight  when  I  hold  it  up,  which  was 
exceedingly  beautiful  when  it  glorified  the  head  of 
one  that  has  vanished — this  hair  is  not  now  beautiful 
to  me  but  only  ineffably  sad.  Yet  I  would  not  grieve 
at  the  thought  that  the  lovely  children  of  the  air  must 
cease  to  live,  that  their  warm,  palpitating  flesh  so 
beautifully  clothed  with  feathers  must  be  torn  and 
devoured ;  or  that  they  must  perish  of  hunger  and 
cold  when  the  frost  has  its  iron  grip  on  the  earth  ;  or 
fall  by  the  way  or  on  the  wide  sea,  beaten  down  by 
adverse  bitter  winds  and  rain  and  sleet  and  snow. 
Indeed,  I  would  grieve  at  no  natural  ending  of  life, 
however  premature  or  painful  or  tragical  it  might 
appear,  nor  think  of  death  at  all ;  rather  I  would  re- 
joice with  every  breath  in  ail  this  abounding  wonder- 
ful earthly  life  in  which  I  have  a  share.  It  only  grieves 
me  and  darkens  my  mind  to  think  that  man  should 
invent  and  practise  every  conceivable  form  of  perse- 
cution and  cruelty  on  these  loveliest  of  our  fellow- 
beings,  these  which  give  greatest  beauty  and  lustre 
to  the  world ;  and,  above  all  cruelties,  that  they 
should  deprive  them  of  their  liberty,  that  which 
sweetens  life  and  without  which  life  is  not  life. 


CHAPTER  X 
WHITE  DUCK 

THE  green  colour  of  earth  is  pale  in  this  March  month 
to  what  it  will  be  a  few  weeks  hence ;  nevertheless 
on  this  evening,  a  fortnight  before  the  first  day  of 
spring,  after  a  long  day  spent  sauntering  in  quiet  places 
in  this  Norfolk  land,  I  seem  to  have  been  living  in  the 
greenest  of  worlds.  Grass  and  the  colour  of  it  is  so 
grateful  to  me,  and  even  necessary  to  my  well-being, 
that  when  removed  from  the  sight  of  it  I  am  apt  to  fall 
into  a  languishing  state,  a  dim  and  despondent  mind, 
like  one  in  prison  or  sick  and  fallen  on  the  days 

Which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmerings  and  decay*. 

How  good  for  mind  and  body,  then,  to  be  abroad  at 
this  time  when  the  increasing  power  of  the  sun  begins 
to  work  a  perceptible  change  in  the  colour  of  earth ! 
How  natural  that  at  such  a  season,  just  at  the  turn  of 
the  year,  I  should  take  an  entire  day  in  the  fields  solely 
to  look  at  the  grass,  to  rejoice  in  it  again  after  the  long 
wintry  months,  nourishing  my  mind  on  it  even  as 
old  King  Nebuchadnezzar  nourished  his  body !  The 
sight  of  it  was  all  I  went  for,  all  I  wanted,  and  what- 
104 


WHITE  DUCK  105 

ever  I  saw  besides  pleased  me  only  because  it  formed 
a  suitable  background,  or  made  it  seem  brighter  by 
contrast  or  served  in  some  way  to  set  it  off.  Old  red- 
brick farmhouses,  seen  at  a  distance,  nestling  among 
evergreen  and  large,  leafless  trees,  in  many  cases  the 
deep,  sloping  roofs  stained  all  over  with  orange-coloured 
lichen  ;  quiet  little  hamlets  too,  half  hidden  beneath 
their  great  elms  as  under  a  reddish  purple  cloud  ;  the 
endless  grey  winding  road,  with  low  thorn  hedges  on 
either  side  winding  with  it,  leafless  and  a  deep  purple 
brown  in  colour  except  where  ivy  had  grown  over  and 
covered  them  with  dark  green  brown-veined  leaves 
silvered  with  the  sunlight.  A  hundred  things  besides 
— red  cows  grazing  on  a  green  field,  a  flock  of  starlings 
wheeling  about  overhead  and  anon  dropping  to  the 
earth  ;  gulls,  too,  resting  in  another  field,  white  and 
pale  grey,  their  beaks  turned  to  the  wind  :  they  were 
like  little  bird-shaped  drifts  of  snow  lying  on  the  green 
turf,  shining  in  the  sun.  For  all  day  long  the  weather 
was  perfect — a  day  of  soft  wind  and  bright  sunshine 
following  a  spell  of  cold,  rough  weather  with  flooding 
rains ;  a  soft  blue  sky  peopled  with  white  and  pale  grey 
clouds  travelling  before  the  wind. 

And  seeing  these  things — seeing  and  forgetting  as 
one  sees  whatever  comes  into  the  field  of  vision  when 
eyes  and  mind  are  occupied  with  some  other  thing — 
the  time  went  on  until  a  little  past  noon,  when  I 
suddenly  came  upon  a  new  sight  which  gave  me  a  thrill 
and  hold  me,  and  after  I  had  passed  on  would  not 
allow  me  to  drop  it  out  of  my  mind.  All  the  objects 


io6        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

I  had  seen  that  day,  the  lichened  farmhouses  and 
grey  barns,  trees  and  roads  and  purple  hedges,  red  and 
black  cows  in  a  green  field,  and  gulls  and  rooks  and 
distant  low  hills  and  pine-woods,  with  many  more, 
had  appeared  to  me  but  as  a  fringe  and  small  parts  of 
an  irregular  scattered  pattern  on  the  green  mantle  of 
earth.  This  new  sight  was  of  a  different  order,  for  it 
took  me  out  of  my  spring-grass  mood,  and  the  green 
mantle  which  had  seemed  the  chief  thing  was  now  but 
a  suitable  setting  to  this  lovely  object. 

This,  then,  is  what  I  saw.  In  the  middle  of  a  green 
pasture  I  came  on  a  pool  of  rain-water,  thirty  or  forty 
feet  long,  collected  in  a  depression  in  the  ground,  of 
that  blue  colour  sometimes  seen  in  a  shallow  pool  in 
certain  states  of  the  atmosphere  and  sunlight — an 
indescribable  and  very  wonderful  tint,  unlike  the 
blue  of  a  lake  or  of  the  deep  sea,  or  of  any  blue  flower 
or  mineral,  but  you  perhaps  think  it  more  beautiful 
than  any  of  these ;  and  if  it  must  be  compared  with 
something  else  it  perhaps  comes  nearest  to  deep  sap- 
phire blues.  When  an  artist  in  search  of  a  subject 
sees  it  he  looks  aside  and,  going  on  his  way,  tries  to 
forget  it,  as  when  he  sees  the  hedges  hung  with  spider's 
lace  sparkling  with  rainbow-coloured  dewdrops,  know- 
ing that  these  effects  are  beyond  the  reach  of  his  art. 
And  on  this  fairy  lake  in  the  midst  of  the  pale  green 
field,  its  blue  surface  ruffled  by  the  light  wind,  floated 
three  or  four  white  ducks ;  whiter  than  the  sea-gulls, 
for  they  were  all  purest  white,  with  no  colour  except 
on  their  yellow  beaks.  The  light  wind  ruffled  their 


WHITE  DUCK  107 

feathers  too,  a  little,  as  they  turned  this  way  and  that, 
disturbed  at  my  approach ;  and  just  then,  when  I 
stood  to  gaze,  the  sun  shone  full  out  after  the  passing 
of  a  light  cloud,  and  flushed  the  blue  pool  and  floating 
birds,  silvering  the  ripples  and  causing  the  plumage 
to  shine  as  if  with  a  light  of  its  own. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  more  beautiful  thing !  "  I 
exclaimed  to  myself ;  and  now  at  the  end  of  the  long 
day  it  remains  in  my  mind,  vividly  as  when  I  looked 
at  it  at  that  moment  when  the  sunbeams  fell  on  it, 
and  is  so  persistent  that  I  have  no  choice  but  to  write 
it  down.  The  beauty  I  saw  was  undoubtedly  due 
to  the  peculiar  conditions — to  the  blue  colour  of  the 
water,  the  ruffling  wind,  the  whiteness  of  the  plumage, 
and  the  sudden  magic  of  the  sunlight ;  but  the  effect 
would  not  have  been  so  entrancing  if  the  floating  birds 
had  not  also  been  beautiful  in  themselves — in  shape 
and  in  their  surpassing  whiteness. 

Now  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  will  smile  and  per- 
haps emit  the  sound  we  usually  write  pish — a  little 
sibilant  sound  expressing  contempt.  For  though  he 
will  readily  admit  that  the  sun  beautifies  many  things, 
he  draws  the  line  at  a  duck — the  common  domestic 
one.  Like  all  of  us,  he  has  his  prepossessions  and  can't 
get  away  from  them.  Every  impression,  we  are  told 
by  Professor  James,  no  sooner  enters  the  consciousness 
than  it  is  drafted  off  in  some  determinate  direction, 
making  connection  with  the  other  materials  there, 
and  finally  producing  a  reaction.  In  this  instance  the 
impression  is  the  story  of  a  duck  described  as  beautiful, 


108        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  reaction  an  incredulous  smile.  The  particular 
connections  it  strikes  into  are  determined  by  our  past 
experiences  and  the  association  of  the  present  im- 
pression with  them.  The  impression  arouses  its  old 
associates ;  they  go  to  meet  it ;  it  is  received  by  them, 
and  rearranged  by  the  mind.  It  is  the  fate  of  every 
impression  thus  to  fall  into  a  mind  preoccupied  with 
memories,  ideas,  and  interests.  This  mental  escort 
is  drawn  from  the  mind's  ready-made  stock.  Our 
philosopher  adds  :  "  In  all  apperceptive  operations 
of  the  mind  a  certain  general  law  makes  itself  felt — 
the  law  of  economy.  In  admitting  a  new  experience 
we  instinctively  seek  to  disturb  as  little  as  possible 
the  pre-existing  stock  of  ideas." 

All  this  is  illuminating  and  helpful,  since  it  enables 
me  to  see  into  my  smiling  reader's  mind  and  to  indulge 
in  a  smile  on  my  part.  For  with  what  in  this  case 
will  the  object  described  (a  white  duck)  connect  itself  ? 
What  are  the  memories,  ideas,  interests,  already  in 
stock,  which  will  be  its  associates  and  form  its  escort 
and  take  it  in  ?  They  are  of  the  duck  as  he  has  seen, 
eaten,  and  known  it  all  his  life — the  familiar  duck  of 
the  farmyard,  a  heavy  bird  that  waddles  in  its  walk 
and  is  seen  dibbling  in  horse-ponds  or  in  any  mud- 
puddle.  It  is  the  bird  which  the  hen-wife  fattens  for 
the  market  while  her  husband  is  fattening  the  pigs. 
If  any  pleasing  memories  or  associations  connect  them- 
selves with  it  they  are  not  of  an  aesthetic  character  : 
they  refer  to  the  duck  without  its  feathers,  to  its  smell 
and  taste  when  eaten  with  green  peas  in  their  season. 


WHITE  DUCK  109 

If  I  am  asked  how  I  escaped  from  these  inconvenient, 
not  to  say  degrading,  associations,  the  only  answer 
would  be  that  associations  of  another  kind  were  prob- 
ably formed  at  some  early  period.  Perhaps  when 
my  infant  eyes  began  to  look  at  the  world,  when  I 
had  no  stock  of  ideas,  no  prepossessions  at  all,  except 
with  regard  to  milk,  I  saw  a  white  duck  and  was  de- 
lighted at  it.  In  any  case  the  feeling  for  its  beauty  goes 
far  back.  I  remember  some  years  ago  when  strolling 
by  the  Itchen  I  stood  to  admire  a  white  duck  floating 
on  the  clear  current  where  it  is  broad  and  shallow 
and  where  the  flowering  wild  musk  was  abundant. 
The  rich  moist  green  of  the  plant  made  the  white 
plumage  seem  whiter,  and  the  flowers  and  the  duck's 
beak  were  both  a  very  beautiful  yellow.  "  If,"  thought 
I,  "  the  white  duck  were  as  rare  in  England  as  the 
white  swallow,  or  even  the  white  blackbird,  half  the 
inhabitants  of  Winchester  would  turn  out  and  walk 
to  this  spot  to  see  and  admire  so  lovely  a  thing." 

Many  and  many  a  time  have  I  stopped  in  my  walk 
or  ride  to  admire  such  a  sight,  but  the  white  ducks 
seen  to-day,  floating,  sun-flushed,  on  a  blue  pool  in 
a  green  field,  had  a  higher  loveliness,  a  touch  of  the 
extra-natural,  and  served  to  recall  an  old  tradition 
of  a  primitive  people  concerning  the  country  of  the 
sky,  where  the  dead  inhabit,  and  all  trees  and  flowers 
abound  as  on  earth,  and  all  animals  and  birds,  including 
ducks,  but  more  beautiful  than  here  below.  Every 
one  may  know  that  the  country  is  there  because  of  the 
blueness ;  for  the  air,  the  void,  has  no  colour,  but  all 


i  io        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

matter  seen  at  a  distance  appears  blue — water  and 
trees  and  mountains ;  only  the  sky  country  is  at  so 
vast  a  distance  that  we  see  nothing  but  the  blue  colour 
of  it.  But  there  are  openings  or  windows  in  the  great 
plain,  and  these  are  the  stars,  and  through  these  win- 
dows the  clear,  brilliant  light  of  that  country  shines 
down  on  us  when  it  is  dark. 

How  do  the  dead  get  there — flying  like  soaring 
birds,  up,  up,  up,  until  they  come  to  it  ?  They  can 
certainly  fly  like  birds,  but  no  high-soaring  bird  and 
no  disembodied  spirit  can  rise  by  flying  to  so  immense 
a  height;  yet  when  men  die  they  have  no  thought 
and  desire  but  for  that  country,  and  have  no  rest  or 
pleasure  here,  but  roam  up  and  down  the  earth,  flying 
from  the  sight  of  human  beings,  even  of  their  nearest 
relations  and  friends,  because  they  are  now  invisible 
to  mortal  eyes,  and  to  find  themselves  unrecognised 
and  unheard  when  they  speak  and  no  longer  re- 
membered is  intolerable  to  them.  Therefore,  by  day, 
when  people  are  abroad,  they  fly  to  forests  and  unin- 
habited places,  where  they  lie,  but  at  night  they  come 
forth  to  range  the  earth  in  the  form  of  owls  and  night- 
jars and  loons  and  rails  and  all  other  wandering  night- 
birds  with  wild  and  lamentable  voices.  Night  by 
night  they  wander,  crying  out  their  misery  and  asking 
of  those  they  meet  to  tell  them  of  some  way  of  escape 
from  earth  so  that  they  might  come  at  last  to  the 
country  of  the  dead  ;  but  none  can  tell  them,  for  they 
are  all  in  the  same  miserable  case,  seeking  a  way  out. 
But  at  last,  after  months  and  perhaps  years,  they  come 


WHITE  DUCK  in 

in  their  wanderings  to  the  end  of  the  earth  and  the 
stupendous  walls  and  pillars  of  stone  which  hold  up 
the  immense  plain  of  the  sky ;  there  they  eventually 
discover  some  way  by  which  to  ascend  and  reach  that 
happy  country  which  is  their  home. 

It  was  not  always  so ;  once  the  passage  from  earth 
to  heaven  was  comparatively  an  easy  one ;  there  was 
a  way  then  known  to  every  one,  dead  or  living,  in  the 
world.  It  was  a  tree  growing  on  the  river-bank,  so 
high  that  its  topmost  branches  reached  up  to  heaven. 
Imagine  what  a  tree  that  was,  its  buttressed  trunk  so 
big  round  that  a  hundred  men  with  arms  outspread 
and  hands  touching  could  not  have  spanned  it !  There 
was  ample  room  under  the  shade  of  its  lower  branches 
for  the  entire  nation  to  gather  and  sit  at  meat,  every 
one  in  his  place.  On  higher  branches  great  birds  had 
their  nesting-places,  and  higher  still  other  great  birds, 
eagles  and  vultures  and  storks,  might  be  seen  soaring 
skywards,  circling  upwards  until  they  appeared  like 
black  specks  in  the  blue,  but  beyond  these  specks  the 
tree  rose  still  until  it  faded  from  sight  and  mixed  itself 
with  the  universal  blue  of  heaven.  By  this  tree  the 
dead  ascended  to  their  future  home,  climbing  like 
monkeys,  and  flitting  and  flying  like  birds  from  branch 
to  branch,  until  they  came  to  the  topmost  branches 
and  to  an  opening  in  the  great  plain,  through  which 
they  passed  into  that  bright  and  beautiful  place. 

Unhappily  this  tree  fell  a  long  time  ago — oh,  a  very 
long  time  ago !  If  you  were  to  range  the  whole  earth 
in  search  of  the  oldest  man  in  it,  and  at  last  discovered 


ii2        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

him  sitting  in  his  cabin,  bent  down  like  a  dead  man, 
with  his  clawlike  fingers  clasped  together  on  his  knees, 
his  brown  face  covered  with  a  hundred  wrinkles, 
his  hair  white,  and  his  eyes  turned  white  too  with 
blindness,  and  asked  him  of  the  tree,  he  would  say  that 
it  fell  before  his  time,  a  long  time  before,  perhaps 
in  his  grandfather's  or  great-grandfather's  time,  or 
even  before  then.  And  this  is  how  it  fell — it  is  surely 
one  of  the  saddest  chapters  in  the  history  of  the  world  ! 
It  came  to  pass  that  an  old  and  evil-tempered  woman 
died,  and,  going  to  the  tree,  in  due  time  reached  the 
sky,  and  was  happy  to  find  herself  at  last  in  that  bright 
and  beautiful  place.  She  was  very  hungry  after  her 
long  journey  and  climb,  and,  making  inquiry  of  those 
she  met,  they  told  her  very  pleasantly  that  the  readiest 
way  to  procure  food  was  to  catch  some  fish  in  one  of 
the  lakes  close  by.  They  also  gave  her  a  rod  and  line 
and  directed  her  to  the  nearest  lake.  Away  she  went, 
pleased  with  herself  and  everything,  her  mouth  water- 
ing at  the  thought  of  those  green-and-blue  and  red-and- 
yellow  little  fishes  which  were  easy  to  catch  and  de- 
licious to  eat.  It  was  a  small  round  lake  of  clear  water, 
about  a  mile  in  circumference,  to  which  she  had  been 
directed,  and  on  approaching  it  she  saw  that  a  good 
number  of  persons  were  there  standing,  rod  in  hand, 
on  the  margin.  One  of  the  anglers,  happening  to  turn 
his  head,  caught  sight  of  the  old  woman  hurrying  down 
to  them,  and  to  have  a  little  fun  he  cried  out  to  those 
near  him  :  "  Look !  here  comes  an  old  woman,  just 
arrived,  to  fish ;  let's  close  up  and  say  there  is  no 


WHITE  DUCK  113 

room  for  another  here  and  have  a  laugh  at  her  ex- 
pense." 

Here  the  reader  must  be  told  that  the  part  of  a  man 
which  survives  death  is  in  appearance  the  exact  coun- 
terpart of  the  man  when  alive.  To  mortal  eyes  he  is 
invisible,  being  of  so  thin  a  substance ;  but  the  dead 
and  immortal  see  him  as  he  was,  young  or  old  and  ugly, 
with  his  grey  hair  and  wrinkles  and  every  sign  of 
suffering  and  care  and  passion  on  his  countenance. 
And  as  with  the  face  and  the  whole  body  so  it  is  with 
the  mind  :  if  it  has  been  evil,  full  of  spite  and  malice, 
it  is  so  still.  But  he  must  be  told,  too,  that  this  state 
is  not  permanent,  for  in  that  bright  and  buoyant 
atmosphere  it  is  impossible  for  the  marks  of  age  and 
misery  to  endure  ;  they  fade  out  as  the  easy,  happy 
existence  finds  its  effect ;  they  grow  youthful  in  ap- 
pearance once  more ;  and  the  change  is  also  in  the 
mind.  The  old  woman  had,  alas !  not  been  long 
enough  in  that  happy  land  for  any  change  to  have 
taken  place  in  either  her  appearance  or  her  spiteful 
temper. 

That  was  how  the  people  by  the  lake  no  sooner 
beheld  the  newcomer  than  they  knew  her  for  what  she 
had  been,  and  was  still — a  spiteful  old  woman;  and 
being  of  a  merry  disposition  they  were  only  too  ready 
to  take  part  in  the  joke.  As  she  drew  near  they  closed 
up  and  cried  out :  "  No  room  for  another  fisher  here  ; 
go  further  on  and  find  yourself  a  place." 

On  she  went ;  but  those  who  were  further  up  saw 
what  the  fun  was,  and  they  too  in  their  turn  cried  : 
8 


ii4        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

"  No  room,  no  room  here,  old  woman  ;  go  a  little 
further  on."  And  she  went  on,  only  to  be  sent  further 
still,  until  she  had  gone  all  the  way  round  the  lake 
and  was  back  at  the  spot  where  she  had  started  where 
she  was  received  with  a  shout  of  laughter  and  the  cry 
of  "  No  room  here,  old  woman." 

Then  in  a  rage  she  flung  the  rod  down,  and,  cursing 
the  people  for  making  a  fool  of  her,  she  fled  from  their 
laughter ;  and,  arrived  back  at  that  very  opening 
through  which  she  had  climbed  into  heaven,  she  cast 
herself  down  on  the  upper  branches  of  the  great  tree 
and  began  her  long  descent  to  earth  again.  She  alone 
of  all  the  dead  who  had  reached  that  country  turned 
her  back  on  it  and  returned  to  this  world,  to  our  ever- 
lasting sorrow.  Arrived  at  the  earth,  and  mad  with 
rage  and  the  desire  of  revenge,  she  turned  herself  into 
a  huge  water-rat,  a  creature  found  by  that  river,  a  rat 
as  big  as  a  retriever  dog,  with  four  great  teeth,  hard 
and  sharp  as  steel  chisels,  two  in  the  upper  and  two 
in  the  lower  jaw.  Making  herself  a  den  at  the  roots 
of  the  mighty  tree,  she  began  gnawing  the  wood,  work- 
ing day  and  night  for  many,  many  days,  and  for  months 
and  years ;  and  if  ever  she  grew  tired  of  her  huge  task 
she  thought  of  the  indignity  she  had  suffered  and  of 
the  mocking  laughter  of  the  people  by  the  lake,  and  was 
roused  to  fresh  fury  and  continued  exertions.  In 
this  way  the  great  roots  and  lower  part  of  the  trunk 
were  riddled  through  and  through  and  hollowed  out. 
Nor  was  it  known  to  any  one  what  the  malignant  old 
woman  was  doing,  since  the  vast  quantities  of  wood 


WHITE  DUCK  115 

which  she  threw  out  were  carried  away  by  floods  and 
the  current  of  the  great  river.  Thus  even  to  the  end 
did  her  evil  spirit  sustain  her,  and  the  tree  bent  and 
swayed  in  the  mighty  wind,  and  at  last  fell  with  a  noise 
as  of  many  thunders,  shaking  the  world  with  its  fall, 
and  filling  all  its  inhabitants  with  terror.  Only  when 
they  saw  the  tree  which  had  stood  like  a  vast  green 
pillar  reaching  to  the  sky  lying  prone  across  the  world 
did  they  know  the  dreadful  thing  which  had  been  done. 

So  ended  that  great  tree  named  Caligdawa  ;  and  so 
ends  my  story,  originally  taken  down  from  the  lips 
of  wise  old  men  who  preserved  the  history  and  tradi- 
tions of  their  race  by  a  missionary  priest  and  read  by  me 
in  my  early  youth  in  the  volume  in  which  he  relates  it. 

But  I  will  venture  to  say  that  the  story  has  not 
been  dragged  in  here ;  I  had  no  thought  of  using  it  when 
I  sat  down  this  evening  to  write  about  a  white  duck. 
That  vision  of  the  sunlit,  surprisingly  white,  yellow- 
billed  ducks  floating  on  the  wind-rippled  blue  pool — 
for  it  was  like  a  vision — had  to  be  told ;  but  how, 
unless  I  said  that  it  was  like  a  glimpse  into  some  un- 
earthly place  where  all  things  are  as  on  earth,  only 
more  beautiful  in  the  brighter  atmosphere  ?  My  blue 
pool  with  white  birds  floating  on  it,  in  a  spring-green 
field,  blown  on  by  the  wind  and  shone  on  and  glorified 
by  the  sun,  was  like  a  sudden  vision,  a  transcript  of 
that  far-up  country. 

And  now,  just  at  the  finish,  another  chance  thought 
comes  to  help  me.  The  thought  has,  in  fact,  been 
stated  already  when  I  said  that  half  the  inhabitants  of 


n6         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

Winchester  would  turn  out  to  gaze  at  and  admire  the 
white  duck  seen  by  the  Itchen  if  white  ducks  were 
rare  as  white  swallows  in  the  land.  How  many  things 
which  are  beautiful  seem  not  so  because  of  their  com- 
monness and  of  the  uses  to  which  they  are  put !  What 
comes  now  to  help  me  is  the  memory  of  a  matter  in 
old  English  history.  Close  upon  a  thousand  years 
ago  there  lived  a  very  beautiful  lady  of  whom  little 
is  known  except  that  she  was  an  earl's  daughter,  and 
that  the  young  king,  who  had  a  passion  for  beauty  ex- 
ceeding that  of  all  men,  even  in  those  wild  and  violent 
times,  loved  and  made  her  his  queen.  After  bearing 
him  a  son,  who  was  king  too  in  his  time,  she  died, 
to  England's  lasting  sorrow.  And  she  was  known 
throughout  the  realm  as  the  White  Duck,  on  account 
of  her  great  beauty.  We  can  only  suppose  that  at 
that  distant  period  the  white  duck  was  a  rarity  in 
England,  therefore  that  those  who  saw  it  looked  with 
concentrated  attention  at  it  as  we  look  at  any  rare  and 
lovely  thing — a  kingfisher,  let  us  say — and  were  able 
to  appreciate  its  perfect  loveliness. 


CHAPTER  XI 
AN  IMPRESSION  OF  AXE  EDGE 

THE  ornithologists  of  to-day  are  a  somewhat  numerous 
tribe,  including  persons  of  varied  tastes,  habits,  am- 
bitions, and,  above  everything,  means.  Among  them 
are  a  few  fortunate  individuals  whose  object  in  life  is 
to  seek  out  the  least  familiar  species,  the  rarest  in 
the  land  or  the  most  local  in  their  distribution,  or 
most  difficult  to  get  at  and  observe  closely.  Many 
of  us  would  like  to  do  our  birding  in  that  way,  but  few 
are  free  to  take  the  whole  year  for  a  holiday,  to  travel 
long  distances,  to  spend  days,  weeks,  months  in  the 
quest — just  to  see  and  study  some  bird  in  its  haunts 
— a  pine  forest  in  Rothiemurchus  or  some  such  "  vast 
contiguity  of  shade,"  or  a  beetling  cliff  on  the  coast 
of  Connemara,  or  a  boggy  moor  or  marsh  in  the  Shet- 
lands  or  Orkneys,  or  in  "  utmost  Kilda's  lonely  isle." 
They  must  be  young,  or,  at  all  events,  physically 
tough,  and  unless  they  can  make  it  pay  by  procuring 
specimens  for  their  numerous  friends  (dealers  and 
collectors  all)  they  must  have  money  enough  to  exist 
without  work.  These  being  the  conditions,  it  is 
not  strange  that  this  wide-wandering,  perpetual- 
holiday  band  should,  if  we  exclude  the  suspects,  be 
117 


n8        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

a  small  one  and  as  enthusiastic  in  their  pursuit  as  other 
open-air  men  are  apt  to  be  about  hunting  the  fox, 
golfing,  fishing,  cricketing,  shooting,  motoring,  and 
other  forms  of  sport. 

Call  them  sportsmen,  ornithologists,  or  bird-lovers 
pure  and  simple,  I  envy  them  their  magnificent  freedom 
and  could  ask  for  no  happier  life  than  theirs.  It  is 
like  that  of  the  person  whose  delight  is  in  anthropology 
in  passing  from  land  to  land,  seeing  many  and  various 
races  of  men,  visiting  remote  districts  whose  inhabitants 
through  long  centuries  of  isolation  have  preserved  the 
features  and  mental  characteristics  of  their  remote 
progenitors.  To  pursue  wild  birds  in  that  way — to 
follow  knowledge  like  a  sinking  star,  to  be  and  to 
know  much  until  I  became  a  name  for  always  wander- 
ing with  a  hungry  heart — that  was  my  one  desire  ;  but 
alas !  it  was  never  in  my  power.  Compared  with  the 
disencumbered  ones  I  am  like  an  ordinary  man,  walk- 
ing on  the  earth,  to  men  of  lighter  bodies  and  nimbler 
minds  who  have  found  out  how  to  fly  and  are  like 
birds  chasing  birds. 

Nevertheless  there  are  compensations.  The  very 
restraints  which  annoy  us  may  not  be  without  their 
advantages.  The  rare  experience  of  finding  myself  at 
last  in  the  presence  of  some  long-v/ished-for  bird, 
comparing  it  with  its  imaginary  mental  portrait  and 
with  the  mental  images  of  its  nearest  relations,  and 
finally  of  being  able  to  add  this  one  new  portrait  to  the 
gallery  existing  in  the  mind — my  best  possession  and 
chief  delight — perhaps  affords  me  a  keener  pleasure 


AN  IMPRESSION  OF  AXE  EDGE      119 

than  can  be  experienced  by  the  man  of  unlimited 
opportunities.  My  humbler  triumph  is  like  that  of 
the  lover  of  literature  of  small  means,  who  from  time 
to  time,  by  some  lucky  chance,  becomes  the  possessor 
of  some  long-desired  book.  For  how  much  greater 
is  his  joy  in  fingering  and  in  reading  it  than  the  wealthy 
owner  of  a  great  library  can  know  ?  It  is  true  the 
poor  book-lover  dreams  of  better  things :  more  leisure 
to  hunt,  more  money  to  buy — a  legacy  perhaps  from 
some  kindly  being  he  knows  not  of,  which  will  enable 
him  to  grasp  greater  prizes  than  have  ever  come  in  his 
way.  So  with  me  :  year  by  year  I  dream  of  longer 
journeys  into  remoter  and  wilder  places  in  search  of 
other  charming  species  not  yet  seen  in  their  native 
haunts.  And  that  was  my  dream  last  winter — it 
always  is  my  dream — which,  when  summer  came 
round,  found  its  usual  ending.  The  longer  journey 
had  to  be  postponed  to  another  year  and  a  shorter  one 
taken  ;  so  it  came  about  that  I  got  no  further  than 
the  Peak  district,  just  to  spend  a  few  weeks  during  the 
breeding  season  with  half  a  dozen  birds,  all  familiar 
enough  to  most  ornithologists,  but  which  are  not 
found,  at  all  events  not  all  together,  nearer  to  London 
than  the  Derbyshire  hills. 

Axe  Edge,  where  I  elected  to  stay,  is  not  the  highest 
hill  in  that  part,  being  about  eighteen  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea,  whereas  Kinder  Scout  rises  to  quite  two 
thousand ;  but  I  found  it  high  enough  for  one  who 
modestly  prefers  walking  and  cycling  on  the  level 
ground.  And  here  I  found  what  I  wanted — the  bird 


120        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

life  peculiar  to  the  district — grouse,  curlew,  golden 
plover,  snipe  and  summer  snipe,  water  and  ring  ouzel. 
The  unlovely  town  of  Buxton  is  close  by,  set  in  a 
hollow  in  the  midst  of  monstrously  ugly  lime  works. 
The  little  town  is  also  much  tortured  with  motor  cars 
and  is  blown  on  with  stinging,  suffocating  white  dust. 
Happily  I  was  soon  off  the  hated  limestone,  settled  in 
one  of  the  poor  little  stony  farmhouses  in  a  hollow  or 
valley-head  on  the  adjacent  hill,  the  whole  central  part 
of  which  forms  a  vast  moor  or  tableland,  broken  at 
the  borders  and  cut  through  with  ravine-like  valleys, 
or  cloughs  with  steep  rocky  sides  and  rushing  burns 
below,  the  beginnings  of  the  Wye,  the  Dove,  the  Dane, 
and  the  Goyt  rivers.  From  Axe  Edge  on  one  side  you 
look  down  on  Buxton  and  the  hilly  limestone  country 
beyond — a  naked  ugly  land  with  white  patches  show- 
ing everywhere  through  the  scanty  grass  covering. 
From  this  prospect  of  scabby  or  leprous-looking  hills 
one  turns  with  unspeakable  relief  to  the  immense  table- 
land of  Axe  Edge,  where  you  are  off  the  lime  on  the 
grit-stone  formation,  harsh  and  desolate  in  aspect, 
but  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  heather,  bilberry, 
and  coarse  bog  grasses — a  habitation  of  birds. 

Few  persons  live  on  this  high  moor  ;  the  farms  are 
not  visible  until  you  get  to  the  edge  of  it  and  can  look 
down  on  the  slopes  below  and  the  valleys,  where  the 
small  cottage-like  stone  farmhouses  are  seen  sprinkled 
over  the  earth,  each  with  its  few  little  green  fields 
walled  round  with  stone.  They  are  the  meanest-look- 
ing, most  unhomelike  farms  you  will  find  in  England, 


AN  IMPRESSION  OF  AXE  EDGE      121 

for  they  have  no  gardens,  few  or  no  shade  trees,  and 
there  is  no  sign  of  cultivation  anywhere.  From  one 
side,  looking  towards  Leek,  I  counted  twenty-six  farms, 
and  at  not  one  of  them  did  they  grow  a  potato  or  a 
cabbage  or  a  flower  ;  and  if  you  go  all  round  the  hill 
you  could  count  two  or  three  hundred  farms  like  these. 
Each  one  has  its  stone-fenced  fields,  on  which  a  few 
cows  feed,  and,  if  the  summer  is  not  too  cold,  a  little 
hay  is  made  for  the  winter.  It  is  all  the  cattle  get, 
as  there  are  no  roots.  The  sheep,  if  any  are  kept,  are 
up  on  the  moor,  a  long-woolled,  horned  animal  with 
black  spotted  face  and  looking  all  black  from  its  habit 
of  lying  in  the  peat  holes.  They  are  not  in  flocks  and 
are  not  folded,  but  live  on  the  moor  in  small  parties 
of  two  or  three  to  half  a  dozen.  The  farmers  depend 
mainly  on  their  lean  ill-fed  cows  for  a  livelihood  ;  they 
make  butter  and  feed  a  pig  or  two  with  the  skim  milk. 
They  live  on  bacon  and  buttermilk  themselves,  and 
bread  which  they  make  or  buy,  but  vegetables  and  fruit 
are  luxuries.  To  one  from  almost  any  other  part  of 
the  country  it  seems  a  miserable  existence,  yet  the 
farmers  are  not  less  attached  to  their  rude  homes  and 
little  bleak  holdings  than  others,  and  though  they  abuse 
the  landlord  or  his  agent  because  they  cannot  have  the 
land  for  nothing,  they  appear  to  be  fairly  well  satisfied 
with  their  lot.  I  sometimes  thought  they  were  even 
too  well  contented  and  wanted  to  know  why  they  did 
not  try  to  grow  a  few  cabbages  or  potatoes  in  some 
sheltered  nook  for  the  house  ;  some  said  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  it  on  account  of  the  May  and  June  frosts, 


122        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

and  others  said  that  the  owners  objected  to  the 
ground  being  broken  up  !  I  also  asked  several  farmers 
why  they  did  not  cut  bracken,  which  was  plentiful 
enough,  to  serve  as  bedding  for  the  cows,  since  they 
could  not  get  straw.  They  answered  that  occasionally 
a  farmer  did  so,  but  it  was  not  the  custom  and  they 
thought  the  cows  did  just  as  well  without  any  bedding 
at  all ! 

I  pitied  the  cows ;  but  perhaps  they  were  right ;  it 
may  well  be  that  the  domestic  animals,  like  their 
masters,  have  become  adapted  during  many  genera- 
tions to  a  starvation  land,  to  lie  in  winter  on  a  hard 
cold  stone  floor  and  to  keep  alive  on  the  smallest 
amount  of  food  of  the  poorest  kind,  and  yet  to  flourish 
in  a  way  and  yield  milk. 

But  though  they  appear  to  be  a  contented,  they  are 
not  a  happy-looking  or  a  lively  people.  They  have 
colourless  faces  and  for  good  looks  or  brightness  or 
intelligence  compare  badly  with  the  inhabitants  of  the 
adjoining  districts  and  with  the  people  of  England 
generally,  north  and  south.  The  children  are  naturally 
more  attractive  than  the  adults ;  they  have  the  bright- 
ness proper  to  their  time  of  life,  which  makes  their 
dirty  little  faces  shine ;  but  it  is  rare  to  find  a  pretty 
one.  What  has  made  this  people  of  the  Peak  what 
they  are,  so  unlike  their  neighbours,  so  wholly  absorbed 
in  their  own  affairs  and  oblivious  of  the  world  outside  ; 
mentally  isolated,  like  the  inhabitants  of  a  lonely  island? 
It  was  a  depressing  experience  to  converse  with  youths 
and  young  men  of  an  age  when  if  any  romance,  any 


AN  IMPRESSION  OF  AXE  EDGE      123 

enthusiasm,  exists  it  is  bound  to  show  itself.  They 
were  too  serious — they  were  even  solemn,  and  gave 
one  the  idea  that  they  had  all  been  recently  converted 
to  Methodism  and  were  afraid  to  smile  or  to  say  a  frivo- 
lous or  unnecessary  word  lest  it  should  be  set  down 
against  them  by  an  invisible  recording  clerk,  standing, 
pen  behind  his  ear,  at  their  elbow,  intently  listening. 
There  was  no  trace  of  that  fiery  spirit,  that  intensity 
of  life,  that  passion  for  music,  sport,  drinking  and 
fighting,  for  something  good  or  bad  which  distinguishes 
their  very  next-door  neighbours,  the  Lancastrians. 
What  is  it  then — the  soil,  the  altitude  and  bleak  cli- 
mate, the  hard  conditions  of  life,  or  what  ?  One  knows 
of  other  districts  where  life  is  just  as  hard,  where  the 
people  have  yet  some  brightness  of  mind,  some  energy, 
some  passion  in  them.  I  gave  it  up ;  there  was  no 
time  for  brooding  over  such  problems ;  my  quest 
was  birds,  not  men. 

Moreover,  now  at  the  end  of  May  the  first  unmis- 
takable signs  of  spring  were  becoming  visible  on  that 
lofty  moor  of  a  hard  and  desolate  aspect  which  I  had 
made  my  home.  Frosts  and  fogs  and  cold  winds  were 
not  so  persistent ;  there  were  better  intervals ;  then 
came  a  beautiful  warm  day — the  first  fine  really  warm 
day,  the  natives  proudly  assured  me,  which  they  had 
experienced  since  the  previous  August.  The  little 
stone-enclosed  fields  had  taken  a  livelier  green,  and  on 
wet  spots  and  by  the  burns  the  shining  yellow  marsh- 
marigolds  were  in  bloom.  But  the  chief  change  to 
spring  on  the  high  wintry  moor  was  in  the  appearance 


124        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

of  the  bilberry  bushes,  growing  everywhere  in  dense 
patches  among  the  heather.  They  had  now  put  on 
their  first  leaves  and  they  were  like  the  young  leaves 
of  the  oak  in  spring 

Against  the  sun  shene — 
Some  very  red  and  some  a  glad  light  grene. 

And  this  wild  place  was  a  habitation  of  birds,  and 
these  were  the  people  I  had  come  to  see  and  listen  to, 
who  were,  indeed,  more  to  me  than  the  human  in- 
habitants. 


CHAPTER  XII 
BIRDS  OF  THE  PEAK 

LUNCHING  one  day  at  Buxton,  I  hobnobbed  with 
a  man  whose  classic  features,  fine  physique  and  mag- 
nificent beard  filled  me  with  a  great  admiration.  He 
was  the  vicar  of  a  neighbouring  parish,  a  man  of  the 
open  air,  a  cultivated  mind,  and  large  sympathies — 
the  very  person  I  wanted  to  meet,  for  doubtless  he 
would  know  the  birds  and  be  able  to  tell  me  all  I  wanted 
to  learn.  By-and-by  the  subject  was  introduced,  and 
he  replied  that  he  did  not  know  very  much  about 
birds,  but  he  had  noticed  a  particularly  big  crow  in  his 
parish — big  and  black — and  he  would  like  to  know  what 
it  was.  There  were  always  some  of  them  about. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  carrion  crow  or  a  rook,  he  couldn't 
say  for  certain  ;  but  it  was  exceptionally  big — and  very 
black. 

One  meets  with  many  disappointments  when  asking 
for  information  about  the  bird  life  of  any  locality ; 
one  is  apt  to  forget  that  such  knowledge  is  not  common, 
that  it  is  easier  to  find  a  poet  or  a  philosopher  in  any 
village  than  a  naturalist.  Nevertheless  I  was  singularly 
fortunate  at  Buxton  in  meeting  with  that  same  rarity 
in  the  person  of  a  tradesman  of  the  town,  a  Mr.  Micah 
125 


126        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

Salt,  who  had  studied  the  birds  of  the  district  all  his 
life.  But  not  in  books ;  he  did  not  read  about  birds, 
he  observed  them  for  his  own  pleasure  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  him  to  talk  about  them,  but  it  went  no 
further.  He  did  not  even  make  a  note  ;  bird-watch- 
ing was  his  play — a  better  outdoor  game  than  golf, 
as  it  really  does  get  you  a  little  forrarder,  and  does 
not  make  you  swear  and  tell  lies  and  degenerate  from 
a  pleasant  companionable  being  to  an  intolerable  bore. 
It  was  through  his  advice  that  I  went  to  stay  on  Axe 
Edge,  where  I  would  find  all  the  birds  I  wanted  to 
watch,  and  where  it  seemed  to  me  on  first  going  on  to 
the  moor  that  about  five-sixths  of  the  bird  life  consisted 
of  two  species — cuckoo  and  meadow  pipit.  At  the 
low-roofed  stone  cabin  where  I  lodged  a  few  wind- torn 
beeches  had  succeeded  in  growing,  and  these  were  a 
great  attraction  to  the  moorland  cuckoos  and  their 
morning  meeting-place.  From  half-past  three  they 
would  call  so  loudly  and  persistently  and  so  many  to- 
gether from  trees  and  roof  as  to  banish  sleep  from  that 
hour.  And  all  day  long,  all  over  the  moor,  cuckoos 
were  cuckooing  as  they  flew  hither  and  thither  in  their 
slow,  aimless  manner,  with  rapidly  beating  wings, 
looking  like  spiritless  hawks,  and  when  one  flew  by  a 
pipit  would  rise  and  go  after  him,  just  to  accompany 
him,  as  it  appeared,  a  little  distance  on  his  way.  Not 
in  anger  like  some  of  the  small  birds,  even  the  diminu- 
tive furze-jack  who  cherishes  a  spite  against  the  cuckoo, 
but  in  pure  affection.  For  the  meadow  pipit  is  like 
that  person,  usually  a  woman,  whom  we  call  a  "  poor 


BIRDS  OF  THE  PEAK  127 

fool "  because  of  a  too  tender  heart,  who  is  perhaps 
the  mother  of  a  great  hulking  brute  of  a  son  who 
gobbled  up  all  he  could  get  out  of  her,  caring  nothing 
whether  she  starved  or  not,  and  when  it  suited  his 
pleasure  went  off  and  took  no  more  thought  of  her — 
of  the  poor  devoted  fool  waiting  and  pining  for  her 
darling's  return.  The  pipit's  memory  is  just  as  faith- 
ful ;  she  remembers  the  big  greedy  son  she  fed  and 
warmed  with  her  little  breast  a  year  or  two  ago,  who 
went  away,  goodness  knows  where,  a  long  time  back ; 
and  in  every  cuckoo  that  flies  by  she  thinks  she  sees  him 
again  and  flies  after  him  to  tell  him  of  her  undying  love 
and  pride  in  his  bigness  and  fine  feathers  and  loud 
voice. 

Who  that  knows  it  intimately,  who  sees  it  creeping 
about  among  the  grass  and  heather  on  its  pretty  little 
pink  legs,  and  watches  its  large  dark  eyes  full  of  shy 
curiosity  as  it  returns  your  look,  and  who  listens  to  its 
small  delicate  tinkling  strain  on  the  moor  as  it  flies  up 
and  up,  then  slowly  descends  singing  to  earth,  can  fail 
to  love  the  meadow  pipit — the  poor  little  feathered 
fool  ? 

Concerning  the  breeding  habits,  the  friendship  and 
very  one-sided  partnership  between  these  two  species, 
Mr.  Salt  informed  me  that  all  the  cuckoos'  eggs  he  had 
found  in  fifty-five  years,  during  which  he  had  been 
observing  the  birds  of  the  district,  were  in  meadow 
pipits'  nests.  Nor  had  he  ever  seen  a  young  cuckoo 
being  tended  by  the  numerous  other  species  supposed 
to  be  its  foster  parents — warblers,  wagtails,  chats,  the 


128        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

robin,  redstart,  dunnock  and  wren.  Furthermore,  he 
had  discussed  this  subject  with  numbers  of  persons 
living  in  the  district,  and  their  experience  agreed  with 
his.  His  conclusion  was  that  the  meadow  pipit  was 
the  only  dupe  of  the  cuckoo,  in  spite  of  what  was  said 
in  the  books.  The  conclusion  was  wrong,  but  his 
facts  may  be  right  with  regard  to  this  particular  district. 
Doubtless,  if  this  be  so,  there  must  be  eggs  laid  from 
time  to  time  in  the  nests  of  other  species,  but  in  the 
long  run  the  instinct  of  parasitism  on  dunnock  or  wag- 
tail or  some  other  species  would  be  swamped  by  that 
of  the  majority  of  cuckoos,  all  parasites  on  the  meadow 
pipit  exclusively. 

Of  all  the  small  musical  sounds  emitted  by  birds 
on  moors  and  other  lonely  places  I  think  I  love  the 
aerial  tinkle  of  the  pipit  best,  unless  it  be  the  warble 
of  the  whinchat  heard  in  the  same  situations.  Few 
persons  appear  to  know  the  whinchat's  song,  yet  it 
may  be  heard  every  day  from  April  to  July  all  over 
the  country  wherever  the  bird  has  its  haunts. 
The  main  thing  is  to  know  a  sound  when  you  hear 
it.  This  chat  is  a  shy  singer  as  well  as  an  incon- 
spicuous bird,  and  as  a  rule  becomes  silent  when 
approached.  One  hears  a  delicious  warble  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  and  does  not  know  whose  voice  it  is ; 
but  if  on  any  silent  heath  or  common  or  grassland,  or 
any  furze-grown  brambly  waste,  you  should  catch  a 
very  delicate  warbled  song,  a  mere  drop  of  sound,  yet 
to  all  other  bird  sounds  about  it  like  the  drop  of  dew  or 
rain  among  many  other  crystal,  colourless  drops,  which 


BIRDS  OF  THE  PEAK  129 

catches  the  light  at  the  right  angle  and  shines  with  love- 
liest colour,  you  may  safely  say  that  it  was  a  whinchat. 
A  fugitive  sound  heard  at  a  distance,  of  so  exquisite  a 
purity  and  sweetness,  so  tender  an  expression,  that  you 
stand  still  and  hold  your  breath  to  listen  and  think, 
perhaps,  if  it  is  not  repeated,  that  it  was  only  an 
imagined  sound. 

An  even  more  characteristic  sound  of  the  high  moor 
than  these  small  voices  which  are  not  listened  to  is  the 
curlew's  voice  :  not  the  beautiful  wild  pipe  nor  the 
harsh  scream,  the  whaup's  cry  that  frightens  the  super- 
stitious, but  the  gentler  lower  varied  sounds  of  the 
breeding  season  when  the  birds  are  talking  to  one 
another  and  singing  over  their  nests  and  eggs  and  little 
ones.  Best  of  all  of  these  notes  is  the  prolonged  trill, 
which  sounds  low  yet  may  be  heard  distinctly  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away  or  further,  and  strongly  reminds  me  of 
the  trilling  spring  call  of  the  spotted  tinamou,  the 
common  partridge  of  the  Argentine  plains — a  trill 
that  is  like  a  musical  whisper  which  grows  and  dwells 
on  the  air  and  fades  into  silence.  A  mysterious  sound 
which  comes  out  of  the  earth  or  is  uttered  by  some 
filmy  being  half  spirit  and  half  bird  floating  invisible 
above  the  heath.  I  liked  these  invisible  curlews,  sing- 
ing their  low  song,  better  than  the  visible  bird,  mad 
with  anxiety  and  crying  aloud  when  the  nest  was  looked 
for.  But  the  curlew  has  one  very  fine  aspect  when, 
at  your  approach,  he  rises  up  before  you  at  a  distance 
of  three  or  four  hundred  yards  and  comes  straight  at 
you,  flying  rapidly,  appearing  almost  silver-white  in 
9 


130        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  brilliant  sunshine,  the  size  so  exaggerated  by  the 
light  and  motion  as  to  produce  the  illusion  of  a  big  bird, 
the  only  one  left  alive  by  the  Philistines  and  destroyers. 
But  it  is  a  beautiful  illusion  which  lasts  only  a  few 
moments.  In  all  this  Peak  district  you  will  not  find  a 
larger  bird  than  a  curlew  or  mallard  or  crow,  that  very 
big  bird  which  my  clergyman  told  me  about.  Not  a 
buzzard,  not  a  harrier,  not  a  raven,  or  any  other  species 
which  when  soaring  would  seem  an  appropriate  object 
and  part  of  the  scenery  in  these  high  wild  places. 

What  a  contrast  between  all  these  delicate  voices  of 
the  moorland,  from  the  faint  tinkle  of  the  rising  and 
falling  pipit  to  the  curlew's  trill,  and  others  I  have 
omitted,  the  golden  plover  and  water-ouzel,  the  aerial 
bleat  of  the  snipe,  the  wail  of  the  peewit  and  thin  sharp 
pipe  of  the  sandpiper  or  "  water-squealer  "  as  the 
natives  call  it — between  all  these  and  the  red  grouse. 
He  has  no  music  in  him,  but  great  power.  On  these 
high  moors  his  habit  is  to  sit  or  stand  on  a  stone  wall 
to  sun  himself  and  keep  an  eye  on  his  wives  and  rivals 
and  the  world  generally.  He  stands,  head  erect, 
motionless,  statuesque,  the  harsh-looking  heap  of  dark 
gritstone  forming  an  appropriate  pedestal.  For  he  is 
like  a  figure  cut  in  some  hard  dark  red  stone  himself 
— red  gritstone,  or  ironstone,  or  red  granite,  or,  better 
still,  deep-red  serpentine,  veined  and  mottled  with 
black,  an  exceedingly  hard  stone  which  takes  a  fine 
polish.  And  in  voice  and  character  the  bird  is  what 
he  looks,  hard  and  brave,  both  as  wooer  and  fighter. 
Even  near  the  end  of  May  when  many  hens  are  in- 


BIRDS  OF  THE  PEAK  131 

cuba ting — I  stumble  on  a  dozen  nests  a  day — he  is 
wooing  and  fighting  all  the  time,  and  the  fights  are 
not  mere  shows  like  those  of  the  ruff,  a  pretty  little 
feathered  French  duellist,  and  other  quarrelsome 
species  that  fight  often  without  hurting  one  another. 
The  red  grouse  that  looks  like  a  stone  hurls  himself 
like  a  stone  against  his  adversary,  and  whether  he 
breaks  bones  or  not  he  makes  the  polished  feathers  fly 
in  clouds.  Yet  in  his  wooing  this  stone-like  bird  some- 
time attains  to  grace  of  motion.  That  is  when, 
carried  away  by  his  passion,  he  mounts  into  the  air, 
and  if  there  is  any  wind  to  help  him  rises  easily  to  a 
good  height  and  performs  in  descending  a  love  flight 
resembling  that  of  the  cushat  and  turtle-dove.  But 
in  his  vocal  performances  there  is  no  grace  or  beauty, 
only  power.  You  are  astonished  at  the  sounds  he  emits 
when  he  bursts  out  very  suddenly  rattling  and  drum- 
ming— rrrrrr-rub-a-dub-dub ;  or  you  may  liken  it  to 
a  cachinnatory  sound  as  if  a  gritstone  rock  standing 
among  the  heather  had  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 
Then  he  changes  his  tone  to  a  more  human  sound  like 
a  raven's  croak  prolonged,  which  breaks  up  into  shorter 
sounds  at  the  end — ah-ha  !  come  here,  come  back, 
go  back,  go  back,  quack,  quack,  or  quick,  quick,  which 
is  probably  what  he  really  means. 

From  the  grouse  and  his  rude  noises  I  must  now  go 
back  to  the  delicate  songsters,  to  give  an  impression 
of  the  ring  ouzel ;  for  oddly  enough  I  had  hitherto 
had  no  opportunity  of  really  watching  and  listening 
to  it  during  the  breeding  season.  Certain  birds  at 


132        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

certain  times,  or  on  certain  rare  days,  take  possession 
of  and  hold  us  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others.  A  similar 
experience  is  familiar  to  the  lovers  of  the  sublime  and 
beautiful  in  nature  and  art,  in  music  and  poetry. 
So  (to  compare  small  things  with  great)  we  naturalists 
have  our  buzzard  or  raven  or  wild  geese  days,  and, 
better  still,  our  days  with  this  or  that  fascinating  melo- 
dist— black-cap  or  blackbird,  or  linnet,  or  wheatear, 
or  nightingale.  And  when  the  day  is  finished  and 
the  mood  over  it  is  not  wholly  over  even  then  ;  we  are 
like  the  poet  who  has  listened  to  voices  even  more  un- 
earthly than  birds' : 

I  thenceforward  and  long  after 
Listen  to  their  harp-like  laughter, 
And  carry  in  my  heart  for  days 
Peace  that  hallows  rudest  ways. 

Moreover  I  was  here  on  a  special  visit  to  this  species ; 
he  was  more  in  my  mind  than  the  golden  plover  or  any 
other.  I  came  to  be  more  intimate  with  him — to 
have  my  ring-ouzel  day  and  mood. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  RING-OUZEL  AS  A  SONGSTER 

FROM  the  Peak  northwards  the  ring-ouzel  is  not  an 
uncommon  species  in  mountainous  districts,  but  in 
the  greater  part  of  England  it  is  unknown,  or  known 
only  by  name  like  the  merlin,  crested  tit,  and  phalarope. 
Indeed  to  most  of  us  a  first  sight  of  it  comes  as  a  sur- 
prise. The  sight  of  a  new  species  will  always  produce 
a  shock  of  pleasure  in  those  who  are  interested  in  birds  : 
in  the  case  of  the  ring-ouzel  there  is  another  element 
in  the  feeling — something  of  a  mixture  of  incredulity 
and  even  resentment.  And  all  because  we  find  in 
this  until  now  unknown  species  a  veritable  blackbird 
— black  of  hue  (and  comely)  with  orange-tawny  bill ; 
also  possessing  the  chuckle  and  all  the  manners  and 
gestures  of  that  familiar  being ;  yet  not  the  real  black- 
bird, not  our  blackbird,  the  old  favourite  of  wood 
and  orchard  and  garden.  For  this  real  blackbird,  the 
"  garden  ouzel,"  as  our  ancients  of  the  seventeenth 
century  called  it,  is  to  us  so  unlike  all  other  feathered 
beings  in  figure,  colouring,  flight,  gestures,  voice ; 
withal  so  distinguished  among  birds,  that  we  have 
come  to  look  on  it  as  the  one  and  only  blackbird  in 
»33 


134        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

existence.  A  thrush,  it  is  true,  but  modified  and  raised 
as  far  above  those  olive-coloured  spotty  birds  as  the 
lovely  and  graceful  grey  wagtail  is  above  the  modest 
little  creeping  pipits  it  springs  from.  That  we  have 
been  told  of  other  blackbirds  in  many  lands  does  not 
matter,  since  what  we  hear  about  such  things  does  not 
impress  us — we  forget  and  practically  disbelieve  it. 
The  sight  of  a  ring-ouzel  thus  deprives  us  of  an 
illusion. 

I  was  not  affected  in  that  way  at  the  Peak,  having  met 
the  bird  a  long  time  before  in  other  parts  of  the 
country,  but  its  song  had  remained  unknown  and  I 
had  come  to  hear  it.  Nor  had  I  long  to  wait  for  that 
pleasure.  On  my  way  to  the  small  hovel  of  a  farm- 
house, on  Axe  Edge,  where  I  had  arranged  to  stay, 
while  walking  in  the  old  forsaken  road,  worn  very 
deep  and  thickly  bestrewn  with  loose  stones  like  the 
bed  of  a  dry  mountain  torrent,  I  caught  the  sound 
of  a  bird  voice  unknown  to  me,  and  peeping  over 
the  bank  at  the  roadside,  beheld  the  ring-ouzel 
within  twenty  yards  of  me,  sitting  on  a  stone  wall, 
emitting  his  brief  song  at  intervals  of  less  than  half  a 
minute. 

After  listening  for  about  fifteen  minutes  till  he  flew 
off,  I  went  on  my  way  rejoicing  at  a  new  experience 
and  marvelling  that  this  simple  little  bird  melody, 
which  one  would  imagine  any  child  could  imitate  or 
describe  to  you  so  that  when  heard  afterwards  it  could 
easily  be  identified,  had  yet  never  been  described  in 
the  ornithological  books.  Such  a  statement  may  seem 


THE  RING-OUZEL  AS  A  SONGSTER     135 

incredible  considering  the  number  of  books  on  birds 
which  we  possess ;  but  let  any  reader  take  down  one 
from  his  shelves  and  try  to  form  a  definite  idea  as  to 
what  this  song  is  like  from  the  author's  account.  Some 
naturalists  compare  it  with  the  blackbird  and  missel- 
thrush.  It  is  unlike  both,  being  a  short  set  song,  as 
in  the  chaffinch  and  chiffchaff,  without  any  variation 
and  alike  in  every  individual ;  whereas  the  blackbird 
and  missel-thrush  vary  their  phrases  with  every  re- 
petition of  the  song,  and  no  two  individuals  sing  quite 
alike.  In  the  quality  of  the  sound  there  is  also  some 
difference.  Again,  it  is  frequently  described  as  a 
warble,  or  warbled  song,  which  it  is  not.  The  word 
warble,  as  Mr.  Warde  Fowler  has  said,  is  used  of  birds' 
singing  in  a  sense  which  may -be  guessed  from  Milton's 
lines : 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble  as  ye  flow 
Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 

"  The  word,"  he  adds,  "  seems  to  express  a  kind  of 
singing  which  is  soft,  continuous,  and  legato."  It  is 
precisely  because  they  sing  in  this  way  that  several  of 
our  smaller  songsters,  including  the  blackcap  and 
willow-wren,  have  received  the  English  generic  name 
of  Warblers. 

The  song  is  also  variously  characterised  as  desultory, 
wild,  monotonous,  sweet,  plaintive,  mellow,  fluty, 
which  is  all  wrong,  and  if  by  chance  one  word  had  been 
right  it  would  have  given  us  no  definite  idea  of  the 
ring-ouzel's  song — its  shape.  It  is  a  whistle,  repeated 


1 36        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

three  and  sometimes  four  times  without  pause,  uttered 
at  short  intervals  twenty  or  thirty  or  more  times.  Let 
the  reader  think  of  any  such  word  as  spero,  hero, 
wheero,  then  whistle,  musically,  as  he  is  able,  a  loud 
brisk  imitation  of  the  word  three  or  four  times  in 
quick  succession,  and  he  will  reproduce  the  song  well 
enough  to  deceive  any  person  within  hearing  that  it  is 
a  ring-ouzel  singing.  The  difference  will  be  that  the 
whistled  imitation  will  never  get  the  expressive  bell- 
like  musical  character  of  the  bird.  The  sound  has 
intrinsic  beauty,  but  its  charm  is  mainly  due  to  the 
place  you  hear  it  in,  the  wildness  and  solitude  of  the 
rocky  glens  or  the  mountain  side. 

By  going  all  round  the  mountain,  visiting  every 
clough,  I  succeeded  in  locating  about  forty  or  fifty 
breeding  pairs  and  failed  to  detect  any  individual 
differences  in  their  singing.  As  in  other  songsters, 
the  ring-ouzel  lowers  his  voice  when  approached  by 
a  man  or  when  watched  ;  when  singing  freely  the 
voice  carries  far,  and  may  be  heard  distinctly  from  the 
opposite  side  of  a  glen  three  or  four  hundred  yards 
wide,  and  refined  by  distance  it  has  then  a  beautiful 
bell-like  quality. 

In  May  the  ring-ouzels  were  mostly  laying  their 
eggs  when  the  earlier-breeding  blackbirds  were  bring- 
ing their  young  off.  One  day,  within  a  ten  minutes' 
walk  of  the  house,  I  spied  a  young  blackbird  out  among 
the  rocks  on  the  glen  side,  and  captured  it  just  to  hold 
it  a  minute  or  so  in  my  hand  for  the  sake  of  its  beauty, 
also  to  see  what  its  parents  would  do.  They  came  at 


THE  RING-OUZEL  AS  A  SONGSTER      137 

me  in  a  fury,  to  flutter  about  within  two  or  three 
yards  of  me,  screaming  and  scolding  their  loudest ; 
and  very  soon  their  noise  brought  a  pair  of  ring- 
ouzels  on  the  scene  to  help  them.  Here  was  a  fine 
opportunity  of  comparing  our  two  British  blackbirds 
— two  pairs,  male  and  female,  all  animated  by  the 
same  passion,  and  acting  together  like  birds  of  the 
same  species,  dashing  close  to  my  face,  as  I  sat  on  a 
stone  holding  the  richly-coloured  young  bird  in  my 
hand,  showing  it  to  them. 

The  ring-ouzel  always  looks  like  a  lesser  blackbird, 
even  when  they  are  thus  seen  side  by  side,  although  it 
is  about  the  same  size ;  but  he  is  not  so  black  as  his 
cousin,  for  black,  being  the  most  conspicuous  colour 
in  nature,  exaggerates  the  size  of  an  object,  especially  a 
living  moving  one,  to  the  eye.  In  some  lights  the 
ring-ouzel  has  a  rusty  appearance  owing  to  the  pale 
tips  of  the  feathers.  The  female  is  less  black  than  the 
male  and  varies  in  colour  according  to  the  light,  some- 
time appearing  olive-black  or  brown,  and  in  some 
lights  a  greenish-bronze  colour. 

On  my  liberating  the  young  bird  the  four  demon- 
strators flew  off.  On  the  following  day  I  found  the 
ring-ouzel's  nest  in  a  tuft  of  bilberry  growing  on  a 
ledge  of  rock  at  the  glen  side.  It  contained  four  eggs. 
The  male  continued  to  sing  at  intervals  during  the  day 
when  the  female  was  sitting,  but  his  favourite  time  was 
late  in  the  evening,  when  perched  on  a  stone  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  his  mate  he  would  repeat  his  song 
about  twice  every  minute  until  it  was  dark.  He  was 


1 38        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  latest  of  the  songsters,  and  would  sing  on  the 
coldest  evenings,  even  when  it  was  raining. 

My  daily  visits  to  this  nest  were  greatly  resented  by 
the  birds.  It  was  their  misfortune  that  they  had 
builded  their  home  so  near  me  and  had  made  it  so 
beautiful.  I  was  also  much  interested  in  the  various 
cries  and  sounds  they  emitted  when  excited  by  my 
presence.  The  male  would  flit  and  fly  about  at  a 
distance,  uttering  loud  clacking  or  chacking  cries 
interspersed  with  a  variety  of  little  exclamatory  notes, 
while  the  female,  more  anxious,  would  dash  at  me, 
chacking  and  screaming  all  the  time.  But  the  instant 
I  left  the  site  their  rage  would  vanish  ;  the  male  would 
begin  his  set  "  wheero-wheero  "  whistle,  while  the 
female  would  break  out  in  a  sort  of  song  of  her  own 
which  resembled  the  first  attempts  at  singing  of  a 
young  throstle — a  medley  composed  of  a  variety  of 
guttural  and  squeaking  notes  interspersed  with  more 
or  less  musical  chirps. 

What  struck  me  as  most  curious  was  that  when 
troubled  with  my  presence  at  the  nest  they  uttered 
two  distinct  sounds  which  are  not  in  the  blackbird's 
language  but  are  part  of  the  language  of  the  typical 
thrushes  (Turdus) ;  one  was  the  prolonged,  tremulous, 
harsh  and  guttural  alarm  cry  of  the  missel-thrush,  the 
other  the  low,  long-drawn,  wailing  note  of  the  throstle 
when  anxious  about  its  nest  or  young,  a  note  so  high- 
pitched  as  to  be  inaudible  to  some  persons.  It  can  only 
be  supposed  that  these  different  sounds,  expressing 
apprehension  or  anger,  have  been  inherited  by 


THE  RING-OUZEL  AS  A   SONGSTER      139 

thrushes  and  the  ring-ouzel,  and  have  been  lost  in  the 
blackbird.  I  have  been  told  that  the  blackbird  does 
occasionally  emit  the  low  robin-like  wailing  note 
when  its  nest  is  approached,  but  have  never  heard 
it  myself. 

One  would  like  to  listen  to  and  compare  the  sounds 
emitted  by  all  the  thrushes  of  the  world — the  spotted 
ground  thrushes  (G*4tbicla),  supposed  to  be  the 
parental  form  ;  the  typical  thrushes  (Turdus) ;  and  the 
blackbirds  (Merula).  Ornithologists  pay  little  or  no 
attention  to  the  language  of  birds  when  considering 
the  question  of  evolution,  but  here  it  might  help  us  to 
a  right  conclusion  of  the  question  whether  the  black- 
birds are  an  offshoot  of  the  typical  thrushes,  or  sprang 
independently  from  the  ground  thrushes.  In  studying 
the  language  of  the  blackbird  alone  one  might  spend 
half  a  lifetime  very  pleasantly.  In  the  development 
of  their  vocal  organs  they  stand  highest  among  birds, 
and  they  have  a  world-wide  distribution,  numbering 
about  seventy  species.  What  more  fascinating  object 
in  life  for  a  wandering  Englishman  who  desires  to  see 
all  lands,  who  loves  birds  and  above  all  others  the 
"  garden  ouzel  "  of  his  home  ?  A  missionary  writes 
that  there  is  no  living  thing  in  Samoa  which  gives  him 
so  much  the  home  feeling  as  this  bird — its  blackbird, 
Merula  samoensis.  The  English  spring  is  recalled  to 
another  in  Ceylon  by  the  ouzel  of  that  country.  Yet 
another  wanderer  in  Somaliland  is  delightfully  re- 
minded of  home  by  the  native  blackbird.  And  doubt- 
less others  have  had  the  same  feeling  produced  in  them 


i4o        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

by  other  blackbirds  in  other  regions — in  Siberia  ;  in 
Cuba,  in  the  Amazonian  forests ;  in  the  Andes  and  the 
Himalayas ;  and  in  Burma,  Japan,  Formosa,  the  Philip- 
pines, New  Guinea,  Borneo,  Java,  Fiji,  New  Hebrides, 
Norfolk  Island,  the  Louisiades,  and  other  islands  and 
countries  too  many  to  name. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BIRD  Music 

To  those  who  delight  in  bird  music  it  appears  strange 
that  there  should  be  many  persons  who  are  quite 
indifferent  to  it,  who  will  hear  you  speak  of  its  charm 
or  beauty  with  impatience  and  perhaps  incredulity. 
It  is  probable  that  in  many  cases  the  indifference  is 
the  result  of  a  town  life  and  the  dulling  effect  on  the 
sense  of  hearing  of  an  atmosphere  of  loud  jarring 
noises,  also  of  the  loudness  of  the  instrumental  music 
to  which  they  are  accustomed.  Our  civilisation  is  a 
noisy  one,  and  as  it  increases  in  noisiness  the  smaller, 
more  delicate  musical  instruments  which  must  be  heard 
in  a  quiet  atmosphere  lose  their  ancient  charm  and 
finally  become  obsolete.  The  tendency  is  towards 
louder  instruments  and  masses  of  sound ;  the  piano 
is  a  universal  favourite,  and  the  more  thunder  you 
get  out  of  it  the  better  it  is  liked. 

In  this  as  in  other  things  our  gain  is  our  loss ;  if  in 
human  music  the  sweetest,  most  delicate  instrumental 
sounds  cease  to  please,  or  even  to  be  tolerable,  on 
account  of  their  small  volume,  how  could  the  very 
best  of  the  natural  music  of  birds  delight  us — the  small 
exquisite  strains  emitted  by  the  wagtails  and  pipits, 
141 


1 42        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  wheatear  and  whinchat,  the  willow  wren  and  wood 
wren,  the  linnet  and  reed  warbler  ?  The  very  most 
that  can  be  said  of  such  minute  melodies  is  that,  like 
the  little  gurgling  and  lisping  sounds  of  a  pebbly 
streamlet  and  of  wind  in  leaves  and  the  patter  of  rain, 
it  is  soothing. 

Another  cause  of  indifference  is  that  for  some 
persons  the  sounds  are  without  expression. 

We  know  that  when  the  occasions  of  past  happiness, 
and  the  fact  of  the  happiness  itself,  have  been  forgotten 
something  yet  remains  to  us — a  vague,  pleasurable 
emotion  which  may  be  evoked  by  any  scene,  or  object, 
or  melody,  or  phrase,  or  any  sight  or  sound  in  Nature 
once  associated  with  such  happiness.  It  is  this  halo, 
this  borrowed  colour  of  a  thing,  which  gives  the 
expression.  Those  who  say  that  they  find  an  indefin- 
able charm  or  beauty  in  any  sight  or  sound  do  not  as  a 
rule  know  that  it  is  not  a  quality  of  the  thing  itself 
which  moves  them,  that  their  pleasure  is  almost  wholly 
due  to  association,  and  that  in  this  case  they  "  receive 
but  what  they  give." 

An  instance  of  this  charm  which  any  natural  object 
or  sound  may  have  for  us  is  given  by  Gilbert  White  in 
his  description  of  an  insect.  "  The  shrilling  of  the 
field  cricket,"  he  says,  "  though  sharp  and  stridulous, 
yet  marvellously  delights  some  hearers,  filling  their 
minds  with  a  train  of  summer  ideas  of  everything  that 
is  rural,  verdurous,  and  joyous."  There  can  be  no 
such  "  train  of  ideas  "  nor  any  vague  sense  of  happiness 
due  to  association  caused  by  a  bird's  voice  to  one 


BIRD  MUSIC  143 

whose  life  or  its  early,  most  happy,  and  impressible 
period  has  been  spent  apart  from  rural  scenes.  The 
voice  may  be  agreeable  if  the  quality  is  good,  but  it  is 
expressionless. 

To  others,  especially  to  those  who  have  lived  with 
and  have  been  lovers  of  Nature  from  the  cradle,  even 
a  slight  bird  sound  may  produce  a  magical  effect,  and 
I  here  recall  an  experience  of  the  kind  which  I  had 
two  or  three  summers  ago  at  Harrogate. 

I  should  say,  judging  from  its  fine  appearance  and 
the  numbers  of  fine  people  frequenting  it,  that  Harro- 
gate must  be  highly  esteemed  by  town-loving  folk ; 
it  is  a  parasitic  town  nevertheless,  and  on  that  account 
alone  distasteful  to  me ;  and  to  make  matters  worse 
I  there  found  myself  in  a  numerous  company  of  the 
sick — pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the  land  to  that  pool 
in  which  they  fondly  hoped  they  would  be  cured  of 
their  ills.  Perhaps  they  did  not  all  hope  for  a  com- 
plete cure,  as  there  was  a  very  large  proportion  of  well- 
nourished,  middle-aged,  and  elderly  gentlemen  with 
hard  red  or  port-wine  faces  and  watery  eyes  who  walked 
or  hobbled  painfully,  some  with  the  aid  of  two  sticks, 
others  with  crutches,  while  many  were  seen  in  bath- 
chairs.  I  took  it  that  these  well-to-do  well-fed  gentle- 
men were  victims  of  gout  and  rheumatism. 

In  this  crowd  of  sufferers  mixed  with  fashionables 
I  was  alone,  out  of  my  element,  depressed,  and  should 
have  been  miserable  but  for  a  small  bird,  or  rather  of 
a  small  small  bird  voice.  Every  day  when  I  went  to 
the  well  in  the  gardens  to  drink  a  tumbler  of  magnesia 


144        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

water  and  sit  there  for  an  hour  or  so  I  heard  the  same 
delicate  wandering  aerial  sound,  the  thin  plaintive  note 
of  the  same  little  bird,  a  willow  wren,  which  had  taken 
up  its  summer-end  residence  at  that  spot.  I  do  not 
mean  a  song  ;  a  little  bird  when  moulting  concealed  in 
a  thick  shrubbery,  has  no  heart  to  sing:  it  was  only 
his  familiar  faint  little  sorrowful  call-note. 

People  came  in  numbers  at  certain  hours  of  the  day 
to  the  spring  and  pavilion  to  drink  water  and  sit  in 
groups  chatting,  flirting,  laughing,  or  to  pace  the 
walks,  while  the  children  ran  and  romped  about 
the  green  lawns  or  sailed  their  little  boats  on  the 
running  water ;  and  by-and-by  the  crowd  would 
begin  to  drift  away  as  meal  time  approached,  until 
the  gardens  would  be  silent  and  deserted.  But  the 
small  bird  was  always  there,  and  though  hidden  among 
the  bushes  where  they  grew  thickest  he  was  not  wholly 
invisible.  At  intervals  his  minute  shadowy  flitting 
form  could  be  discerned  at  some  spot  where  there  was 
a  slight  opening  among  the  dense  clustered  leaves,  seen 
for  a  moment  or  two,  then  gone.  And  even  when 
the  place  was  fullest  of  people  and  the  sound  of  talk 
and  laughter  loudest,  still  at  brief  intervals  that  faint, 
tenuous,  sorrowful  little  sound  would  be  audible 
through  it  all.  Listening  for  it  and  hearing  it,  and 
sometimes  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  small  restless 
creature  among  the  deep  green  foliage  near  my  seat, 
a  curious  mental  change  would  come  over  me.  The 
sense  of  dissatisfaction,  of  disharmony,  would  pass 
away  ;  the  pavilion,  the  kiosks,  the  gravelled  walks  and 


BIRD  MUSIC  145 

offensive  flower-beds,  the  well-dressed  invalids  and 
idlers,  the  artificiality  of  the  scene,  with  big  hotel 
buildings  for  background,  would  be  to  me  something 
illusory — a  mental  picture  which  I  could  dismiss  from 
my  mind  at  any  moment,  or  an  appearance  which 
would  vanish  at  a  breath  of  wind  or  on  the  coming  of 
a  cloud  over  the  sun.  The  people  sitting  and  moving 
about  me  had  no  real  existence  ;  I  alone  existed  there, 
with  a  willow  wren  for  companion,  and  was  sitting 
not  on  an  iron  chair  painted  green  but  on  the  root  of 
an  old  oak  or  beech  tree,  or  on  a  bed  of  pine  needles, 
with  the  smell  of  pine  and  bracken  in  my  nostrils, 
with  only  that  wandering  aerial  tender  voice,  that 
gossamer  thread  of  sound,  floating  on  the  silence. 

This  is  doubtless  an  extreme  example  of  the  power 
of  expression,  and  could  perhaps  only  be  experienced 
by  one  whose  chief  pleasure  from  childhood  has  been 
in  wild  birds  and  who  delights  in  bird  voices  above  all 
sounds.  But  expression  is  not  everything :  there  is 
a  charm  in  some  sounds  so  great  that  we  love  them  from 
the  first  time  of  hearing,  when  they  are  without  associa- 
tions with  a  happy  past ;  and  in  such  cases  we  can  sup- 
pose that  the  emotional  expression,  if  it  exists  at  all,  is 
produced  indirectly  and  forms  but  a  slight  element 
in  the  aesthetic  effect. 

There  is,  besides  expression,  another  thing  not 
often  taken  into  account  which  makes  some  bird 
melodies  impress  us  more  than  others — the  state  of 
mind,  or  mood,  we  are  in  and  the  conditions  in  which 
it  is  heard.  Yet  it  makes  a  world  of  difference  even 
10 


146        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

in  the  songs  of  species  which  we  love  best  for  their 
intrinsic  beauty.  The  curious  thing  is  that  after 
hearing  a  particular  bird  music  in  exceptionally  favour- 
able circumstances  the  hearer  should  become  con- 
vinced that  this  musician  is  the  best.  It  may  not  be 
at  its  best  on  the  next  occasion  of  hearing  it,  or  ever 
again,  but  the  image  of  the  intense  pleasure  it  once 
produced  persists  in  his  mind  and  the  delusion  remains. 

There  are  states  of  the  atmosphere  when  distant 
objects  seem  near  and  all  Nature  takes  on  a  rare  loveli- 
ness which  makes  it  like  a  new  earth.  There  are  states, 
too,  when  bird  sounds  seem  purer,  brighter,  more 
resonant  than  at  other  times,  in  some  instances  surpris- 
ing us  with  new  and  mysteriously  beautiful  qualities. 

After  copious  rains  in  summer  there  is  often  a  tender 
silveriness  in  the  sunlit  air,  the  effect  of  abundant 
moisture  ;  and  on  such  occasions  we  sometimes  note  a 
difference  in  bird  songs  and  cries,  as  if  they,  too,  like 
all  else,  had  been  washed  and  purified  ;  and  just  as  we 
inhale  the  new  delicious  air  into  our  lungs  we  take  the 
new  melody  into  our  souls.  In  this  case  the  exhilarat- 
ing effect  of  the  newly  washed  and  brightened  air  and 
sight  of  the  blue  sky  after  the  depressing  cloud  has 
passed  undoubtedly  count  for  much  ;  the  responsive 
physical  change  in  us  acts  on  the  sense  organs,  and 
they,  too,  appear  to  have  been  washed  and  made  clean 
and  able  to  render  truer  and  brighter  images  than 
before. 

Then,  too,  we  have  the  other  cause,  in  which  all 
natural  sounds,  especially  bird  sounds,  produce  an 


BIRD  MUSIC  147 

unusual  effect  owing  to  some  special  circumstances 
or  to  a  conjunction  of  favourable  circumstances. 
It  is  pure  chance  ;  the  effect  of  to-day  will  never  be 
repeated  ;  it  has  gone  for  ever,  like  the  last  beautiful 
sunset  we  witnessed.  But  there  will  be  many  more 
beautiful  sunsets  to  gladden  our  sight. 

On  looking  on  a  meadow  yellow  with  buttercups 
I  have  seen  one  flower,  or  a  single  petal,  far  out,  per- 
haps, in  the  middle  of  the  fields,  which  instantly 
caught  and  kept  my  sight — one  flower  amongst  a 
thousand  thousand  flowers,  all  alike.  It  was  because 
it  had  caught  and  reflected  the  light  at  such  an  angle 
that  its  yellow  enamelled  surface  shone  and  sparkled 
like  a  piece  of  burnished  gold.  By  some  such  chance 
a  song,  a  note,  may  reach  the  sense  with  a  strange 
beauty,  glorified  beyond  all  other  sounds. 

One  evening,  walking  in  a  park  near  Oxford,  I 
stopped  to  admire  a  hawthorn  tree  covered  with  its 
fresh  bloom.  On  a  twig  on  the  thorn  a  female 
chaffinch  was  perched,  silent  and  motionless,  when 
presently  from  the  top  of  an  elm  tree  close  by  its  mate 
flew  down,  describing  a  pretty  wavering  curve  in  its 
descent,  and  arriving  at  the  bush,  and  still  flying, 
circling  round  it,  he  emitted  his  song ;  not  the  usual 
loud  impetuous  song  he  utters  when  perched ;  in 
form,  or  shape  only  it  was  the  same,  the  notes  issuing 
in  the  same  order,  but  lower,  infinitely  sweeter, 
tender,  etherealised.  The  song  ended  as  the  bird 
dropped  lightly  by  the  side  of  its  little  mate. 

I  could  hardly  credit  my  own  senses,  so  beautiful 


148  ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

had  seemed  this  subdued  lyric  from  a  songster  we 
regard  as  very  inferior  to  some  of  the  warblers  in 
delicacy  and  expressiveness. 

On  another  occasion  I  was  walking  across  a  furze- 
grown  common  after  dark  on  a  very  cold  windy  evening 
in  early  April  when  at  a  distance  of  about  forty  yards 
from  me  a  whinchat  warbled  the  fullest,  sweetest  song 
I  ever  listened  to  from  that  bird.  After  a  brief  in- 
terval the  song  was  repeated,  then  once  again.  Whether 
it  was  the  exceeding  purity  of  the  sound,  so  clear,  so 
wondrously  sweet,  so  unexpected  at  that  hour,  or 
the  darkness  and  silence  of  that  solitary  place  which 
gave  it  an  almost  preternatural  beauty  I  cannot  say, 
but  the  effect  on  me  was  so  great  that  I  have  never 
walked  by  night  in  spring  in  any  furzy  place  without 
pausing  and  listening  from  time  to  time  with  the 
pleased  expectation  of  hearing  it  again. 

Probably  in  these  two  instances  and  in  a  dozen  others 
which  I  could  cite  the  song  was  uttered  by  chance  at 
the  precise  moment  when  it  would  be  most  impressive 
— when  the  conditions  and  the  mood  they  had  induced 
were  most  favourable.  But  the  sound  too  may  create 
the  mood,  as  was  the  case  in  the  following  instance. 

I  have  heard  many  wonderful  blackbirds,  for  like 
all  songsters,  feathered  as  well  as  human,  they  vary 
greatly  in  merit,  and  'pace  Dr.  A.  R.  Wallace,  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  genius  in  nature,  but  I  think  the  one 
which  most  impressed  me  was  just  an  ordinary  black- 
bird. I  was  staying  at  a  farmhouse  in  the  New  Forest, 
and  on  the  side  of  the  house  where  I  slept  there  was  a 


BIRD  MUSIC  149 

large  arbor  vitse  in  which  a  blackbird  roosted  every 
night  on  a  level  with  my  window.  Now,  every  morn- 
ing at  half-past  three  this  bird  would  begin  to  sing  and 
go  on  repeating  his  song  at  short  intervals  for  about 
half  an  hour.  It  was  very  silent  at  that  time  ;  I  could 
hear  no  other  bird  ;  and  the  sound  coming  in  at  the 
open  window  from  a  distance  of  but  five  yards  had 
such  a  marvellous  beauty  that  I  could  have  wished  for 
no  more  blessed  existence  than  to  lie  there,  head  on 
pillow,  with  the  pale  early  light  and  the  perfume  of 
night-flowers  in  the  room,  listening  to  that  divine 
sound. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  A  GREEN  COUNTRY  IN  QUEST  OF  RARE 
SONGSTERS 

I  CAN  understand  the  feeling  experienced  by  some 
visitors  from  far-distant  sunburnt  lands — our  Anti- 
podean "  dependencies,"  for  example — on  first  coming 
to  England,  at  a  time  of  year  when  the  country  is 
greenest.  The  unimagined  brilliancy  of  the  hue  and 
its  universality  affect  them  powerfully ;  for  though 
green  was  known  to  them  in  sea  and  sky  and  earth 
and  in  a  parrot's  plumage  it  is  not  really  the  colour  of 
nature  in  their  world  as  in  ours.  It  is  a  surprise  to  all 
and  in  some  a  pure  delight,  but  to  others  it  appears 
unnatural,  and  it  is  degraded  by  its  association  in  the 
mind  with  fresh  green  paint.  But  to  those  who  live 
in  England,  especially  in  the  southern  parts,  this 
verdure  is  never  more  delightful  and  refreshing  to  the 
soul  than  when  we  come  to  it  straight  from  some  such 
hilly  and  moorland  district  as,  say,  that  of  the  Peak  of 
Derbyshire,  with  its  brown  harsh  desolate  aspect. 
All  the  qualities  which  go  to  make  our  southern  land- 
scape what  it  is  to  us  are  then  intensified,  or  "  illus- 
trated by  their  contraries,"  as  Defoe  would  have  said. 
Thus  it  was  that,  on  coming  south  from  the  Peak 
150 


IN  A  GREEN  COUNTRY  151 

district  at  the  end  of  May,  it  seemed  to  me  that  never 
since  I  had  known  England,  from  that  morning  in  early 
May  when  I  saw  the  sun  rise  behind  the  white  cliffs 
and  green  downs  of  Wight  and  the  Hampshire  shore, 
had  it  seemed  so  surpassingly  lovely — so  like  a  dream 
of  some  heavenly  country.  There  have  been  days  of 
torment  and  weariness  when  the  wish  has  come  to  me 
that  I  might  be  transported  from  this  ball  to  the 
uttermost  confines  of  the  universe,  to  the  remotest  of 
all  the  unnumbered  stars,  to  some  rock  or  outpost 
beyond  the  furthest  of  them  all,  where  I  might  sit  with 
all  matter,  all  life,  for  ever  behind  and  with  nothing 
but  infinite  empty  space  before  me,  thinking,  feeling, 
remembering  nothing,  through  all  eternity.  Now 
the  wish  or  thought  of  a  journey  to  the  stars  came  to 
me  again,  but  with  a  different  motive  :  in  the  present 
instance  it  was  purely  for  the  sake  of  the  long  and 
wholly  delightful  journey,  not  for  anything  at  the 
end.  My  wish  was  now  to  prolong  the  delight  of 
travelling  in  such  scenes  indefinitely.  Could  any  one 
imagine  a  greater  bliss  than  to  sit  or  recline  at  ease 
in  a  railway  carriage  with  that  immortal  green  of 
earth  ever  before  him,  so  varied  in  its  shades,  so  flowery, 
splashed  everywhere  with  tender,  brilliant  gold  of 
buttercups,  so  bathed  in  sunlight  and  shaded  with 
great  trees — green  woods  with  their  roots  in  the  divine 
blue  of  the  wild  hyacinth.  Who  would  not  wish  to 
go  on  for  days,  months,  years  even,  to  the  stars  if  we 
could  travel  to  them  in  that  way  ! 

I  don't  know  much  about  the  stars,  nor  am  I  anxious 


152        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

to  visit  them  ;  it  was  only  the  thought  of  the  long  green 
way  that  fascinated  me.  By-and-by  it  came  into 
my  mind  that  some  one  had  said,  just  to  enable  us  to 
grasp  the  idea  of  their  distance  from  earth,  that  it 
would  take  a  non-stopping  express  train  forty  million 
years  to  get  to  a  star — which  star,  if  any  particular  one 
was  meant,  I  don't  remember.  The  thought  of  it  be- 
gan to  oppress  me,  for  by-and-by,  after  a  few  centuries 
perhaps,  I  should  begin  to  wish  for  a  break,  a  stop  for 
half  an  hour,  let  us  say,  at  some  small  wayside  station 
to  enable  me  to  lie  down  for  a  few  minutes  on  my  back 
in  the  grass  to  gaze  up  into  the  blue  sky  with  its  floating 
white  clouds,  and,  above  all,  to  listen  to  the  skylark 
and  to  every  other  sweet  singing  bird.  I  began  to 
think  that  seeing  is  not  everything,  since  we  have 
other  senses ;  I  wanted  to  hear  and  smell  and  taste 
and  feel ;  to  wrap  myself  about  with  these  sensations, 
to  pierce  and  dwell  in  them  as  some  tiny  insect  pene- 
trates to  the  hollow  chamber  of  a  flower  to  feed  at 
ease  on  its  secret  sweetness.  I  recalled  the  complaint 
of  the  spiritual-minded  author  of  the  Cynthiades  to 
his  Cynthia,  that  he  was  not  content  even  in  their 
moments  of  supremest  bliss — even  when  she  was  so 
close  to  him  that  they  knew  each  other's  thought 
without  a  whisper  : — 

Yet  I  desire 
To  come  more  close  to  thee  arid  to  be  nigher ; 

still  dissatisfied  to  find  that  their  souls  remained 
distinct  and  separate  when  he  would  have,  had  them 


IN  A  GREEN  COUNTRY  153 

touch  like  two  neighbouring  rain-drops  and  become 
one. 

There  was  no  such  bar  in  my  case ;  being  one  we 
could  not  asunder  dwell.  For  my  mistress  is  more  to 
me  than  any  Cynthia  to  any  poet ;  she  is  immortal 
and  has  green  hair  and  green  eyes,  and  her  body  and 
soul  are  green,  and  to  those  who  live  with  and  love  her 
she  gives  a  green  soul  as  a  special  favour. 

With  this  feeling  impelling  me  I  quitted  the  train 
and  took  to  the  wheel,  which  runs  without  a  sound, 
as  a  serpent  glides  or  a  swallow  skims,  and  brings  you 
down  to  a  closer  intimacy  with  the  earth. 

How  unspeakably  grateful  we  should  be  for  this 
gift — we  lovers  of  the  road  and  of  nature's  quietude 
who  have  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit — to  go  on  our  way 
like  the  owl  by  night  on  its  downy  silent  wings !  So 
quiet  is  the  wheel  that  on  two  separate  occasions  I 
have  passed  a  blind  man  on  a  quiet  country  road,  so 
closely  as  almost  to  touch  him  without  his  knowing 
it  until  I  spoke.  This  seemed  marvellous  to  me 
when  I  considered  the  almost  preternatural  keenness 
of  the  hearing  sense  in  the  blind,  especially  in  blind 
men  who  are  accustomed  to  go  freely  about  in  country 
places.  In  both  instances  the  man,  when  spoken  to, 
started  and  wheeling  partly  round  delivered  his  reply 
in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice  had  come, 
though  the  speaker  was  no  longer  there,  having  gone 
twenty  or  thirty  yards  past  the  point. 

My  second  encounter  with  a  blind  man  was  during 
the  ramble  in  a  green  country.  I  alighted,  and 


154        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

watched  him  go  on  feeling  his  way  along  the  edge 
of  the  road  with  his  stick.  He  was  a  mile  or  more 
from  the  village  at  a  spot  where  the  road  went 
by  a  wood.  A  little  further  on  by  the  roadside 
the  benevolent  landlord  —  would  that  there  were 
more  like  him  ! — had  placed  a  garden  bench  in  the 
shade  for  tired  travellers  to  rest  on.  The  man  was 
making  his  way  to  this  seat  and  after  he  had 
settled  down  I  went  back  and  sat  by  him.  He  was  a 
big  healthy  fine-looking  man,  a  native  of  the  village, 
a  son  of  a  farm  labourer.  He,  more  ambitious,  left 
his  home  as  a  youth  to  find  other  employment,  but  it 
was  a  dangerous  trade  he  took  up  and  as  a  result  of  an 
explosion  of  powder  in  his  face  his  vision  was  destroyed 
for  ever.  He  came  back  to  his  village  which,  he  said, 
he  would  never  quit  again.  It  was  the  one  place 
known  to  him  and  although  it  was  now  covered  with 
darkness  he  would  still  see  it  with  his  inner  eye — the 
streets  and  houses,  the  fields,  roads,  hedges,  woods, 
and  streams — all  this  area  which  had  been  his  play- 
ground in  his  early  years  was  so  well  remembered  that 
he  could  still  find  his  way  about  in  it. 

He  told  me  he  made  his  living  by  selling  tea  which 
he  procured  in  quantities  direct  from  a  London  mer- 
chant and  retailed  to  the  cottages  in  half  and  quarter- 
pound  packets.  They  took  their  tea  from  him  because 
he  served  them  at  their  own  doors.  On  certain  days 
of  the  week  he  visited  the  neighbouring  villages  doing 
a  circuit  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  in  the  day.  On 
these  occasions  he  had  a  iittle  girl  of  ten  to  guide  him. 


IN  A  GREEN  COUNTRY  155 

Of  course  she  had  to  attend  school  on  most  days  but 
on  Saturdays  she  was  free  and  she  could  generally  get 
permission  to  absent  herself  from  school  on  another 
day.  Failing  her  he  had  to  take  a  larger  girl,  out  of 
school,  who  was  not  half  so  intelligent  as  the  other  and 
not  so  well  liked  by  the  cottage  women. 

I  noticed  that  this  man,  like  many  other  blind 
persons  I  have  met,  though  big  and  strong  and  in  the 
prime  of  life,  was  a  very  quiet  still  man  who  spoke 
in  a  low  voice  and  was  subdued  and  gentle  in  manner. 
I  think  it  is  the  habit  of  always  listening  that  makes 
them  so  quiet,  and  I  wondered  what  his  sensations 
were  when  a  motor  cyclist  passed  us,  going  by  like  a 
whirlwind,  a  horrible  object,  shaking  the  earth,  and 
making  it  hateful  until  he  was  a  mile  away  with  a 
torrent  of  noise. 

In  my  quieter  way  on  my  wheel  I  rambled  on  from 
county  to  county  viewing  many  towns  and  villages, 
conversing  with  persons  of  all  ages  and  conditions  ;  yet 
all  this  left  but  slight  and  quickly-fading  impressions, 
for  in  my  flittings  about  a  green  land  when  it  was 
greenest  I  had  an  object  ever  present  in  my  mind — 
the  desire  to  see  and  hear  certain  rare  singing  birds, 
found  chiefly  in  the  south,  whose  rarity  is  in  most  cases 
due  to  the  collectors  for  the  cabinet,  bird-catchers, 
and  other  Philistines,  who  occupy  themselves  in  the 
destruction  of  all  loveliest  forms  of  life.  Thus,  the 
clear  whistle  of  a  golden  oriole,  when  I  listened  to  it 
in  a  strictly-guarded  wood,  where  it  breeds  annually 
and  where  I  was  permitted  to  spend  a  day,  was  more  to 


156        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

me  than  the  sight  of  towns,  villages,  castles,  ruins,  and 
cathedrals,  and  more  than  adventures  among  the 
people. 

This,  then,  is  but  a  hasty  and  careless  itinerary. 

Going  west  I  was  at  Blandford,  then  at  Wimborne, 
where  I  found  nothing  in  the  town  to  detain  me  except 
the  minster,  and  nothing  in  that  but  the  whiteness  of 
the  stones  with  which  it  is  built,  with  here  and  there 
one  of  a  surprising  red  placed  at  random,  giving  the 
structure  a  harlequin  appearance,  unlike  that  of  any 
other  church  known  to  me.  At  Wareham,  a  small 
ancient  village-like  town  in  a  beautiful  unspoilt- 
looking  country,  I  was  long  in  S.  Mary's  Church, 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  Edward  the  Martyr's 
stone  coffin,  when  a  great  gloom  came  over  the  earth 
and  made  the  interior  almost  dark.  Coming  out  I  was 
astonished  to  find  that  while  I  had  been  in  there  with 
the  coffin  and  the  poor  boy-king's  ghost,  the  streets 
outside  had  been  turned  into  muddy,  rushing  torrents, 
and  going  to  a  group  of  men  standing  near,  I  asked 
them  where  all  that  water  came  from.  "  From 
above,  I  imagine,"  replied  one,  smiling  at  my  simplicity, 
which  reply  brought  back  to  my  mind  a  story  of  a  good 
little  boy  read  in  my  childhood.  This  little  boy  had 
been  religiously  taught  to  say  about  everything  painful 
or  unpleasant  which  befell  him,  from  the  loss  of  a  toy 
or  a  wetting  or  a  birching,  to  an  attack  of  measles  or 
mumps  or  scarlatina,  that  it  "  came  from  above." 
Now  one  day,  during  a  very  high  wind,  he  was  knocked 
down  senseless  by  a  tile  falling  on  his  head,  and,  re- 


IN  A  GREEN  COUNTRY  157 

covering  consciousness,  found  himself  surrounded  by 
a  number  of  persons  who  had  come  to  his  assistance. 
Picking  himself  up  and  pointing  to  the  tile  at  his  feet 
which  had  knocked  him  down,  he  solemnly  remarked, 
"  It  comes  from  above."  At  which  the  crowd  laughed, 
for  they  were  a  frivolous  people  in  that  town,  and 
they  asked  him  where  else  it  could  come  from  ? 

That  little  town  of  ancient  memories  and  a  cloud- 
burst, with  the  villages  round  it,  is  a  good  place  to  be 
in,  but  it  could  not  keep  me  since  I  could  not  find  there 
what  I  had  gone  out  to  seek ;  so  very  soon  I  turned 
eastward  again,  going  by  way  of  Poole,  which  I  had 
not  seen  for  some  years.  There  I  met  with  a  surprising 
experience.  There  is  a  fine  public  park  at  Poole,  with 
extensive  green  spaces  and  a  lake  for  boating — the 
largest  lake  in  any  public  park  in  England.  At  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  it  was  thronged  with  the  towns- 
people who  had  gathered  at  that  place  to  recreate 
themselves  after  their  day's  work,  and  never  have  I 
seen  a  people  enjoy  themselves  more  heartily,  or  one 
that  seemed  more  like  a  naturally  joyous  people.  The 
greatest  crowd  was  round  the  bandstand,  where 
hundreds  of  people  were  resting  on  chairs  or  sitting 
and  lying  on  the  grass,  whilst  others  danced  on  the 
green  or  on  the  large  open-air  dancing  floors  made  for 
the  purpose.  Further  away  youths  and  boys  were 
running  races  and  playing  ball  on  the  lawns,  whilst 
numbers  of  prettily-dressed  girls  flitted  up  and  down 
the  paths  on  bicycles.  So  much  liberty  in  a  public 
park  was  very  unusual.  Now  just  when  I  came  on  the 


158        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

scene  at  about  six  o'clock  a  big  cloud  rose  up  from  the 
south-east  and  grew  and  grew  until  it  covered  half  the 
entire  heavens  with  its  blackness ;  and  as  it  spread 
higher  and  nearer  the  thunder  heard  at  intervals 
increased  in  power  and  was  more  frequent,  accom- 
panied with  vivid  flashes  of  forked  lightning  which, 
one  would  imagine,  would  have  sent  the  people  in 
terror  to  their  homes.  For  a  very  little  more  and  the 
storm  would  be  directly  over  us  and  the  whole  crowd 
deluged  with  rain.  But  though  it  remained  near  us 
for  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  without  losing  that  black, 
exceedingly  threatening  aspect,  with  occasional  little 
tempests  of  rain,  it  did  not  quite  reach  us,  and  I  then 
noticed,  when  strolling  about  the  ground,  that  there 
was  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  apprehension  or 
nervousness  in  the  people.  The  fun  and  frolic  con- 
tinued without  a  break  through  it  all  until,  at  nine 
o'clock,  the  people  dispersed  to  their  homes. 

Now  I  can  imagine  that  the  people  I  had  been  staying 
with  on  those  cold,  harsh  moors  in  Derbyshire  would 
have  stared  and  gasped  with  astonishment  at  such  a 
scene,  and  would  perhaps  have  refused  to  believe  that 
it  was  an  everyday  scene  in  that  place,  that  this  was 
how  the  people  spent  their  summer  evening  after  each 
day's  work.  I  can  imagine,  too,  that  some  nona- 
genarian or  centenarian,  who  had  from  his  youth 
dreamed  of  a  freer,  sweeter,  more  joyous  life  for  the 
people  of  his  country,  on  coming  down  from  some 
such  unchanged  district  as  the  one  just  mentioned 
and  looking  upon  the  scene  I  have  described,  would 


IN  A  GREEN   COUNTRY  159 

be  able  to  say  from  his  very  heart,  "  Now  lettest  Thou 
Thy  servant  depart  in  peace." 

Quitting  Poole,  I  ran  for  ten  miles  along  a  continuous 
thoroughfare,  through  Bournemouth  to  Christchurch, 
with  the  ugliness  and  infernal  jar  and  clang  of  the 
electric  trams  the  whole  way.  Only  when  I  got  to 
the  shade  of  the  grey  old  priory  church  did  I  feel  that 
I  was  safely  out  of  Pandemonium  and  on  the  threshold 
of  that  county  richest  of  all  in  wild  life  which  con- 
tinually calls  me  back  from  all  others,  east,  west,  and 
north,  to  its  heaths  and  forests  and  rivers. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE 

GOING  further  into  Hampshire  I  was  by-and-by  at 
a  spot  which  cannot  be  named  owing  to  the  faet  that 
I  was  there  in  quest  of  a  rare  and  elusive  little  bird. 
For  we  who  desire  to  save  our  birds  must  keep  the 
private  collector  in  mind  ;  that  injurious  person  who 
is  ever  anxious  to  secure  the  very  last  British-killed 
specimens  of  any  rare  species.  And  should  a  species 
be  near  its  end — in  other  words,  should  it  be  rare — 
then,  says  the  leader  and  lawgiver  of  all  this  rapacious 
gang,  our  right  and  proper  course  is  to  finish  it  off  as 
quickly  as  may  be,  seeing  that  by  so  doing  we  furnish 
our  cabinets  with  a  large  number  of  specimens  for  the 
benefits  of  science  and  of  posterity.  The  law  does 
not  protect  our  birds  and  country  from  these  robbers ; 
they  have  too  many  respected  representatives  in  high 
places,  on  the  benches  of  magistrates,  in  the  Houses  of 
Parliament,  and  among  important  people  generally. 
For  are  they  not  robbers  and  of  the  very  worst  descrip- 
tion ?  Those  who  break  into  our  houses  to  steal  our 
gold  steal  trash  in  comparison ;  while  these,  who  are 
never  sent  to  Portland  or  Dartmoor,  are  depriving 
the  country  with  its  millions  of  inhabitants  of  one  of 
its  best  possessions — its  lustrous  wild  life. 

160 


IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE  161 

Here  I  came  to  a  village  which  happened  to  be  one 
of  the  very  few,  certainly  not  above  half  a  dozen,  in 
all  that  county  never  previously  visited  by  me  ;  and 
as  it  was  within  easy  distance  of  the  spot  I  had  come 
to  explore  I  had  some  idea  of  settling  in  it  for  a  few 
days.  I  had  long  known  it  by  name,  and  it  had  further- 
more been  minutely  and  lovingly  described  to  me  by 
an  old  soldier,  decorated  with  many  medals,  who  is 
now  a  keeper  in  one  of  the  Royal  parks.  One  day  last 
spring  he  showed  me  a  blackbird's  nest  in  which  he  took 
a  somewhat  anxious  interest  on  account  of  its  unsafe 
position  pn  a  wart  or  projection  on  the  trunk  of  a 
Spanish  chestnut  tree,  a  few  feet  from  the  ground  and 
plainly  visible  to  mischievous  eyes.  Our  talk  about 
this  careless  blackbird  and  other  birds  led  to  his  telling 
me  of  his  boyhood  in  a  small  out-of-the-world  Hamp- 
shire village,  and  I  asked  him  how,  with  such  a  feeling 
as  he  had  revealed  about  his  native  place,  he  had  been 
able  to  spend  his  life  away  from  it,  and  why  he  did  not 
go  back  there  now  ?  That,  he  answered,  was  his  de- 
sire and  intention,  not  only  since  he  had  begun  to  grow 
old,  but  he  had  cherished  the  idea  even  when  he  was 
a  young  man  and  in  his  prime,  in  India,  Burma,  Af- 
ghanistan, Egypt.  Now  at  last  the  time  seemed  near 
when  his  desire  would  be  fulfilled ;  two  years  more  in 
the  park  and  he  would  retire  with  a  small  pension, 
which,  added  to  his  soldier's  pension,  would  enable 
him  to  pass  the  remnant  of  his  life  in  his  native  village. 

I  thought  of  him  now,  the  tall  straight  old  soldier, 
with  his  fine  stern  face  and  grey  moustache  and  hair, 
ii 


162        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

who  had  spent  his  years  in  defending  the  Empire  in 
many  distant  lands,  and  was  now  anxiously  guarding 
a  blackbird's  nest  in  a  park  from  the  wild,  lawless  little 
Afghans  and  Soudanese  of  the  London  slums.  It  was 
nice  to  think  of  him  here  where  he  would  soon  be  back 
in  his  boyhood's  haunts,  as  I  sat  on  the  trunk  of  a 
sloping  tree  by  the  stream,  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
churchyard.  I  was  practically  in  the  village,  yet  not 
a  sound  could  be  heard  but  the  faint  whisper  of  the 
wind  in  the  trees  near  me  and  the  ripple  and  gurgling 
of  the  water  at  my  feet.  Then  came  another  sound — 
the  sudden  loud  sharp  note  of  alarm  or  challenge  of  a 
moorhen  a  few  yards  away.  There  she  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  clear  water,  in  a  green  flowery  bed  of  water- 
mint  and  forget-me-not,  with  a  thicket  of  tall  grasses 
and  comfrey  behind  her,  the  shapely  black  head  with 
its  brilliant  orange  and  scarlet  ornaments  visible  above 
the  herbage.  We  watched  each  other,  and  it  was  in- 
deed peaceful  at  that  spot  where  nature  and  man  lived 
in  such  a  close  companionship,  and  very  sweet  to  be 
there ;  nevertheless,  it  did  not  suit  me  to  stay  in  that 
village.  Its  charm  consisted  mainly  in  its  seclusion, 
in  its  being  hidden  from  the  world  in  a  hollow  among 
woods  and  hills,  and  I  love  open  spaces  best,  wide  pros- 
pects from  doors  and  windows,  and  the  winds  free  to 
blow  on  me  from  all  quarters.  Accordingly,  I  went 
to  another  village,  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  where  it  was 
more  open,  and  settled  there  in  a  cottage  with  working 
people — man  and  wife  and  one  child,  a  little  boy  of 
eleven. 


IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE          163 

My  usual  good  luck  attended  me  in  this  place,  for 
seldom  have  I  stayed  with  people  I  liked  better.  The 
wife  was  intelligent  enough  to  let  me  live  just  as  I  liked 
without  any  fuss,  so  that  I  could  get  up  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning  when  they  were  still  sleeping  to  make 
tea  for  myself  in  the  kitchen  before  going  out,  and 
come  in  when  I  liked  and  have  what  I  liked  in  the  way 
of  food.  The  man,  too,  was  a  perfect  host ;  his  good 
qualities  and  cleverness  in  his  work  had  raised  him  to 
a  better  position  than  that  of  most  working-men.  He 
was  actually  earning  about  three  pounds  a  week,  but 
prosperity  had  not  spoiled  him  ;  he  might  have  been 
making  no  more  than  fifteen  or  eighteen  shillings  like 
others  of  his  class,  in  the  village.  His  manner  was 
singularly  engaging,  and  he  was  quiet  and  gentle  in  the 
house.  One  might  have  thought  that  he  had  been 
subdued  by  his  wife — that  she  was  the  ruling  spirit ; 
but  it  was  not  so  :  when  they  were  together,  and  when 
they  sat  at  table,  where  I  sometimes  sat  with  them,  she 
tuned  herself  to  him  and  talked  with  a  gentle  cheerful- 
ness, watching  his  face  and  hanging  on  his  words. 
Their  manner  was  so  unlike  that  of  most  persons  in 
their  state  of  life  that  it  was  a  puzzle  to  me,  and  I  might 
have  guessed  the  secret  of  it  from  a  peculiar  pathos  in 
his  voice  and  the  inward-gazing  dreamy  expression  in 
his  eyes  which  haunted  me ;  but  I  guessed  nothing, 
and  only  learnt  it  just  before  quitting  the  village. 

Then  there  was  the  boy,  who  in  the  house  was  just 
as  still,  gentle,  and  low-voiced  as  his  father  ;  a  boy  who 
disliked  his  books  and  crawled  reluctantly  to  school 


164        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

and  took  no  part  in  games,  but  who  had  an  intense  love 
of  the  wild,  a  desire  to  be  always  out  of  doors  by 
himself,  following  and  watching  the  birds. 

I  was  like  that  myself  at  his  age,  but  was  more  happily 
placed,  having  no  school  to  crawl  to  nor  miserable 
books  to  pore  over. 

One  day,  just  before  leaving,  I  came  in  to  my  six- 
o'clock  meal,  after  a  long  spell  on  the  heath,  to  find 
my  landlady,  as  usual  ready  and  even  eager  to  listen 
to  anything  I  had  to  tell  her.  For  she,  too,  at  home  in 
her  cottage,  had  been  alone  all  day,  except  for  a  few 
minutes  when  her  boy  came  in  at  noon  to  swallow  his 
dinner  and  run  off  to  the  nearest  wood  or  heath  to  get 
as  much  time  as  possible  before  the  clanging  of  the 
school-bell  called  him  in  again.  Now  everything 
I  ever  told  her  about  my  rambles  on  the  heath  had 
appeared  to  interest  her  in  an  extraordinary  way.  She 
would  listen  to  an  account  of  where  I  had  been,  to  which 
old  ditch,  or  barrow,  or  holly  clump,  also  what  birds 
I  had  found  there,  and  to  the  most  trivial  incidents,  as 
if  to  some  wonderful  tale  of  adventure  ;  she  would 
listen  in  silence  until  I  ended,  when  she  would  ask  a 
dozen  questions  to  take  me  all  over  the  ground  again 
and  keep  up  the  talk  about  the  heath.  On  this  occasion 
she  said  more,  telling  me  that  the  heath  had  been  very 
much  to  her  ;  then  little  by  little  she  let  out  the 
whole  story  concerning  her  feeling  for  it.  It  was 
the  story  of  her  life  from  the  time  of  her  marriage  up 
to  little  over  a  year  ago,  when  her  two  children  were 
aged  nine  and  six  respectively.  For  there  were  two 


IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE  165 

children  then,  and  they  lived  in  a  cottage  at  the  side 
of  a  pine  and  oak  wood  on  the  border  of  the  heath. 
Her  husband  was  fond  of  birds  and  of  all  wild  animals  ; 
he  knew  them  well,  and  in  time  she,  too,  grew  to  like 
them  just  as  much.  She  loved  best  to  hear  their  songs 
and  calls ;  bird-voices  were  always  to  be  heard,  day  and 
night,  all  the  year  round.  You  couldn't  but  hear 
them,  even  the  faintest  note  of  the  tiniest  bird,  it  was 
so  silent  at  that  spot  where  there  was  no  road  and  no 
house  near.  Her  solace  and  one  pleasure  outside  the 
house  was  in  their  singing.  She  was  very  much  alone 
there  ;  she  read  little  and  never  heard  any  music — 
one  would  have  to  go  miles  to  hear  a  piano ;  so  the  songs 
of  birds  came  to  be  the  sweetest  sounds  on  earth  for 
her,  especially  the  blackbird,  which  was  more  to  her 
than  any  other  bird.  When  she  first  came  to  live  in 
the  village  she  could  hardly  endure  the  noises — so 
many  cocks  crowing,  children  shouting,  people  talking, 
carts  rattling  by  and  all  kinds  of  noises  !  It  made  her 
head  ache  at  first.  Then  at  night,  how  they  missed 
the  night  birds'  sounds — the  hooting  of  the  wood  owls, 
especially  in  winter,  and  in  summer  the  reeling  of  night- 
jars, and  the  corncrake  and  the  nightingale. 

Thus  for  half  an  hour  the  poor  woman  talked  and 
talked  about  her  old  life  on  the  heath,  laughing  a  little 
now  and  then  at  her  own  feelings — the  absurdity  of  her 
home-sickness  when  she  was  so  near  the  old  spot — but 
always  with  a  little  break  in  her  voice,  avoiding  all  the 
time  the  one  subject  uppermost  in  her  mind — the  very 
one  I  was  waiting  for  her  to  come  to.  And  in  the  end 


166         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

she  had  to  come  to  it,  and  after  putting  her  hand  up 
to  hide  the  tears  that  could  not  be  kept  back,  she  was 
relieved,  and  began  to  speak  freely  of  the  lost  child. 
Violet  was  her  name,  and  every  one  who  knew  her  said 
that  no  fitter  name  could  have  been  given  her,  she  was 
so  beautiful,  so  like  a  flower,  with  eyes  that  were  like 
violets.  And  she  had  the  greatest  love  of  flowers  for  a 
small  child.  Nobody  had  seen  anything  like  it.  Dolls 
and  toys  she  didn't  care  for — she  was  all  for  flowers. 
As  for  sense,  she  had  as  much  of  it  as  any  grown-up 
person  when  she  was  no  more  than  five.  She  was  a 
most  loving  little  thing,  but  cared  most  for  her  father, 
and  every  evening  when  he  came  home  she  would  fly 
to  meet  him,  and  would  sit  on  his  knee  till  bedtime. 
What  talks  those  two  had  !  Now  the  most  curious 
thing  remains  to  tell,  and  this  was  about  both  the 
children — the  way  in  which  they  would  spend  most  of 
their  time.  At  that  distance  from  the  village  the  boy 
was  allowed,  after  a  good  deal  of  bother  about  it,  to 
learn  his  letters  at  home.  If  the  weather  was  fine, 
those  two  would  be  up  and  have  breakfast  very  early, 
then,  taking  their  dinner  in  a  little  basket,  would  go  to 
the  heath,  and  she  would  see  no  more  of  them  till  about 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  boy  was  always 
fondest  of  birds  and  animals,  like  his  father,  and  was 
happy  following  and  watching  them  all  day  long.  The 
girl  loved  the  flowers  best,  and  whenever  she  found 
a  flower  that  was  rare  or  wholly  new  to  her  she  would 
cry  out  with  joy  and  make  as  much  fuss  as  if  she  had 
found  a  splendid  jewel  on  the  heath.  She  was  a  strong 


IN  A  HAMPSHIRE  VILLAGE          167 

child,  always  the  picture  of  health,  so  that  when  she 
suddenly  fell  ill  of  a  fever  it  surprised  and  alarmed  them 
greatly,  and  the  doctor  was  sent  for.  He  didn't  think 
it  a  serious  case,  but  he  seemed  doubtful  about  its 
nature,  and  in  the  end  he  made  a  fatal  mistake — he 
himself  said  it  was  a  mistake.  The  crisis  came,  and 
the  poor  child  got  so  bad  that  he  was  sent  for,  but  it 
was  long  to  wait,  and  in  the  meantime  something  had 
to  be  done,  and  what  she  did  was  to  give  it  a  hot  bath. 
Then  the  fit  passed,  and  with  it  the  fever,  and  the 
child  went  off  in  a  quiet  sleep  with  every  sign  of  re- 
turning health.  Then  came  the  doctor  and  said 
the  child  was  getting  well — the  right  thing  had  been 
done — but  he  must  wake  her  up  and  give  her  a  draught. 
She  begged  him  not  to ;  he  insisted,  and  roused  and 
made  the  child  drink,  and  no  sooner  had  the  little  thing 
swallowed  the  medicine  than  she  fell  back  white  as 
ashes  and  was  dead  in  a  few  minutes. 

It  was  going  on  for  two  years  since  their  loss  ;  they 
had  been  long  settled  in  the  village  and  had  grown  used 
to  the  village  life  :  the  boy  was  gradually  becoming 
more  reconciled  to  school ;  her  husband  had  a  different 
employment,  which  suited  him  better  than  the  former 
one,  and  was  highly  regarded  by  his  master  ;  then, 
too,  they  had  pleasant  relations  with  their  neighbours. 
But  this  improvement  in  their  condition  brought  them 
no  happiness — they  could  not  get  over  the  loss  of 
their  child.  She,  the  wife,  had  her  grief  when  she  was 
alone  during  long  hours  every  day  in  the  house  ;  but 
when  her  man  came  home  in  the  evening  she  could. 


168         ADVENTURES  AMONG   BIRDS 

and  did,  throw  it  off,  and  was  always  cheerful,  her 
whole  care  being  to  make  him  forget  his  sorrow.  But 
it  seemed  useless ;  he  was  a  changed  man  ;  all  his 
thoughts,  all  his  heart,  were  with  his  lost  child.  He 
had  always  been  good-tempered  and  kind,  but  he  had 
been  merry  too,  full  of  fun  and  laughter  ;  now  he  was 
what  I  had  seen — a  very  quiet,  still  man  who  smiled 
a  little  at  times,  but  who  appeared  to  have  forgotten 
how  to  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  FURZE-WREN  OR  FURZE-FAIRY 

I  CAME  to  that  unnamed  little  village,  as  I  have  said, 
in  quest  of  one  of  our  rarest  songsters ;  then  the 
people  of  the  cottage  where  I  lodged  came  between 
me  and  my  subject  with  their  human  sweetness  and 
sorrows,  and  telling  of  them  I  forgot  to  say  whether 
or  not  I  had  found  my  bird  or  even  to  mention  its 
species. 

It  happened  that  about  a  year  or  fourteen  months 
before  I  started  on  this  quest,  a  friend  wrote  to  inform 
me  that  by  chance  he  had  discovered  a  new  locality 
for  the  Dartford  Warbler,  that  delicate  birdling  of  the 
furze  bushes,  our  furze-wren,  so  persistently  sought 
after  for  many  years  past  by  our  collectors.  He  was 
cycling  in  the  south  country,  and  when  going  by  a 
side-road  at  the  edge  of  a  wide  heath  or  moor  caught 
sight  of  a  pair  flitting  among  some  furze  bushes.  He 
had  never  previously  seen  the  bird,  but  I  was  satisfied 
that  he  was  right  in  his  identification — that  he  was 
about  the  last  man  to  make  a  mistake  in  such  a  matter. 
I  may  add  that  this  same  keen  observer  is  not  known 
to  me  personally ;  we  correspond,  and  having  the 


i  yo         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

same  feeling  about  birds  are  naturally  friends.  He  is 
one  of  those  strange  but  not  very  uncommon  persons 
who  lead  a  double  life.  To  some  of  us  he  is  known 
as  an  ornithologist ;  to  the  theatre-going  public  he  is 
a  finished  actor,  and  those  who  know  him  only  in  his 
impersonations  would,  I  imagine,  hear  with  surprise, 
perhaps  incredulity,  that,  off  the  boards,  he  is  a 
haunter  of  silent,  solitary  places  where  birds  inhabit, 
that  in  these  communings  he  has  a  joy  with  which  the 
playgoer  intermeddleth  not. 

The  heath  was  a  very  extensive  one,  covering  an  area 
of  several  square  miles,  and  it  was  not  strange  that 
when  I  searched  the  spot  he  had  described  I  failed  to 
find  the  birds.  I  then  set  patiently  and  methodically 
to  work  to  search  the  furzy  places,  especially  where 
the  growth  was  thickest,  in  other  parts,  and  after  two 
entire  days  spent  in  this  quest  I  began  to  fear  I  was  not 
going  to  find  them  after  all.  But  I  had  spent  so  many 
days  and  weeks  on  former  occasions  in  searching  for 
this  same  most  elusive  little  creature  in  eight  or  nine 
other  spots  where  I  have  found  him  in  the  south  and 
west  country,  and  knew  his  hiding  habits  so  well,  that 
I  still  allowed  myself  to  hope.  However,  after  yet 
another  morning  spent  in  vain  I  resolved  to  give  it  up 
that  same  evening  and  go  back  west.  It  had  been 
labour  in  vain,  I  thought  sadly,  then  smiled  and  felt 
a  little  encouraged  to  remember  that  "  Labour  in 
Vain  "  was  the  actual  name  of  a  barren  stony  piece  of 
ground  with  a  little  furze  growing  on  it,  where  many 
years  ago  I  had  found  my  first  furze-wren — a  spot  dis- 


THE  FURZE-WREN  171 

tant  about  thirty  miles  from  the  nearest  known  locality 
for  the  bird. 

I  then  went  to  a  high  barrow  on  the  heath  and  sat 
down  to  meditate  and  cool  myself  in  the  wind  ;  there 
my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  litter  of  feathers  near 
my  feet  of  some  small  bird  on  which  a  sparrow-hawk 
had  recently  fed.  The  body  feathers  were  red  or 
chestnut  brown,  the  quills  black  or  blackish  brown. 
I  began  to  speculate  as  to  the  species,  when  it  all  at 
once  occurred  to  me  that  these  were  the  two  colours 
of  the  furze-wren.  The  wind  was  blowing  strong  and 
carrying  the  feathers,  red  and  black,  fast  away — in 
two  or  three  minutes  there  would  be  few  left  to  judge 
from.  I  quickly  gathered  those  that  remained  clinging 
to  the  stunted  heath  on  the  barrow-top  and  began 
examining  them.  No,  the  sparrow-hawk  had  not 
struck  down  and  devoured  that  most  unlikely  bird, 
the  furze-wren  :  there  remained  one  little  quill 
with  a  white  border  and  one  small  pure  white 
feather.  They  were  linnet's  feathers — the  dark 
wing  feathers  and  the  chestnut  red  body  feathers 
from  the  back. 

Now  this  trivial  incident  of  the  barrow-top,  where  I 
went  to  meditate  and  did  not  do  so,  served  as  a  fillip 
to  my  flagging  energies,  and  I  immediately  went  off 
across  the  heath  in  quest  of  my  bird  again,  making  for 
a  point  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away  which  I 
had  hunted  over  two  or  three  days  before.  I  had  not 
proceeded  more  than  about  three  hundred  yards  when, 
in  the  most  unlikely  spot  in  the  whole  place,  I  caught 


172         ADVENTURES   AMONG  BIRDS 

sight  of  a  minute,  black-looking  bird  flitting  rapidly 
out  of  one  low  ragged  furze-bush  and  vanishing  into 
another.  Here  was  my  furze-wren  ! 

Nothing  now  remained  to  do  but  to  snuggle  down 
in  a  cluster  of  heather  and  to  sit  there  motionless  and 
watch,  and  in  due  time  the  bird  reappeared  with  his 
mate,  and  they  came  to  and  scolded  me,  then,  seeing 
me  so  still,  went  away  about  their  business. 

In  one  thing  this  pair  disappointed  me.  My  first 
object  in  going  to  the  heath  was  to  make  sure  that 
they  were  still  there  ;  I  had  another,  which  was  not 
to  pull  their  nesting-bush  to  pieces,  to  let  in  the  sun- 
light, rearrange  it,  and  then  photograph  the  nest  "  in 
its  natural  surroundings,"  as  our  fictionists  of  the 
camera  have  it,  but  to  describe  the  song  immediately 
after  listening  to  it,  when  the  impression  would  be  fresh 
in  the  mind.  This  bird,  from  dawn  to  dark,  declined 
to  sing  or  say  any  thing  except  that  he  objected  to  my 
presence.  His  girding  note  is  like  that  of  a  refined 
whitethroat — he  chides  you  like  a  fairy.  The  songless- 
ness  was  no  doubt  due  to  the  fact  that  there  was  no 
other  pair,  or  no  cock  bird,  to  provoke  him,  in  that 
part. 

One  evening,  three  days  later,  I  was  in  another  part 
of  the  heath,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  breeding-place 
of  the  first  pair,  when  a  small  bird  flitted  up  from  the 
furze  and  perched  for  a  few  moments  on  the  topmost 
twig  of  a  bush  ;  another  furze-wren,  his  dainty  figure 
silhouetted,  black  as  jet,  against  the  pale  evening  sky, 
on  the  summit  of  his  black  and  gold  furze-bush  !  It 


THE  FURZE-WREN  173 

was  a  joyful  moment,  a  discovery  wholly  unexpected, 
as  I  had  previously  explored  that  part  and  found 
nothing.  It  was  in  a  spot  where  the  furze  grew  in  a 
dense  thicket,  four  to  six  or  seven  feet  high,  and  cover- 
ing three  to  four  acres  of  ground.  As  a  rule  the  bird 
prefers  a  sparser  growth  with  open  spaces  among  the 
bushes. 

My  bird  soon  vanished  and  refused  to  come  out 
again.  Something  better  followed  ;  fifty  yards  further 
on  a  second  bird  appeared  and  perched  on  a  bush 
began  to  sing,  allowing  me  to  approach  to  within 
twenty  yards  of  him.  He  too  then  dived  down  into 
the  thicket  and  was  seen  no  more.  I  went  home  with 
that  small  song  in  me,  but  did  not  attempt  to  describe 
it,  as  I  wished  first  to  hear  it  again  more  freely  and  fully 
uttered. 

Next  day  I  found  no  fewer  than  nine  pairs,  all  living 
and  breeding  near  together,  at  that  one  point  in  the 
vast  dense  thicket.  Outside  it  was  all  empty  and 
barren  ;  just  there  the  little  living  gems  sparkled  in 
profusion.  But  how  melancholy  to  think  that  any 
cunning  scoundrel  hired  by  a  private  collector,  or  the 
keeper  of  a  bird-stuffer's  shop  who  calls  himself 
"  Naturalist,"  might  appear  any  moment  with  an  air- 
gun  and  extirpate  the  whole  colony  in  the  course  of 
a  morning ! 

I  found  that  my  best  time  to  observe  these  birds 
was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  they  are 
most  excitable  and  vocal.  I  would  then  sometimes 
have  two,  at  times  three,  pairs  about  me,  flitting  hither 


174        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

and  thither,  vanishing  and  reappearing,  scolding  and 
by-and-by  fighting ;  for  any  spot  in  which  I  stationed 
myself  to  observe  them  would  be  within  the  territory 
of  a  particular  pair,  and  when  other  pairs  came  in  to 
assist  in  the  demonstration  against  me,  they  were  re- 
garded as  intruders.  The  cock  in  possession  of  the 
ground  would  resent  their  presence  and  sing  defiantly, 
the  other  would  reply,  but  was  never  able  to  stand 
against  the  furious  onset  which  would  follow  ;  in  every 
case  he  was  chased  ignominiously  back  to  his  own 
ground.  The  victor  would  then  return  to  pour  out  his 
triumph  and  challenge  to  all  outsiders. 

The  song,  albeit  so  passionate,  does  not  carry  far,  so 
that  to  hear  it  well  the  listener  must  be  as  near  as 
he  can  possibly  get  to  the  bird.  It  is  short,  lasting 
only  a  few  seconds  at  each  repetition,  but  when  in  the 
singing  spirit  the  little  vocalist  will  sometimes  continue 
the  performance  for  several  minutes  at  a  stretch.  As 
to  the  character  of  the  song,  Montagu,  who  was  the 
first  man  in  England  to  write  about  it,  said  that  it 
resembled  the  song  of  the  stonechat.  That  is  true, 
since  the  little  chat's  song  is  composed  of  a  few  low 
and  guttural  notes  interspersed  with  others  bright  and 
clear  ;  but  Montagu  omitted  to  say  that  he  spoke  only 
of  the  chat's  song  uttered  from  a  perch  and  not  the 
song  the  same  bird  emits  when  he  rises  high  in  the  air 
and,  falling  and  rising,  pours  out  his  little  rhythmical 
melody — his  better  song.  But  the  song,  or  rather 
songs,  of  the  stonechat  are  known  to  few  persons, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  this  bird  is  intolerant  of  the 


THE  FURZE- WREN  175 

presence  of  a  human  being  near  him.  Heard  at  a  con- 
siderable distance,  the  lower  notes  in  the  song  of  the 
furze-wren  are  lost,  and  the  sound  that  reaches  the 
ear  might  be  taken  for  a  stonechat,  or  linnet,  or 
dunnock,  or  even  a  pipit.  The  whitethroat,  heard  in 
the  same  localities,  has  a  louder,  coarser  song,  which  is 
not  much  softened  or  etherealised  by  distance.  The 
whitethroat's  girding  or  chiding  note  is  familiar  to 
every  one  ;  the  chiding  note  of  the  furze-wren  is  like 
the  same  note  subdued  and  softened.  It  is  this  same 
chiding  or  scolding  note  which  is  used  in  singing,  only 
louder  and  more  musical  and  uttered  with  such  extra- 
ordinary rapidity  that  the  note  may  be  repeated 
eighteen  or  twenty  times  in  three  seconds  of  time. 
The  most  hurried  singing  of  the  sedge-warbler  seems 
an  almost  languid  performance  in  comparison.  This 
rapid  utterance  produces  the  effect  of  a  continuous 
or  sustained  sound,  like  the  reeling  of  the  grass-hopper- 
warbler  ;  the  character  of  the  sound  is,  however,  not 
the  same ;  it  is  rather  like  a  buzzing  or  droning,  as  of 
a  stag  beetle  or  cockchafer  in  flight,  only  with  a  slightly 
metallic  and  musical  quality  added.  This  buzzing 
stream  of  sound  is  interspersed  with  small,  fine,  bright, 
clear  notes,  both  shrill  and  mellow.  Some  of  these 
are  very  pure  and  beautiful. 

Meredith  says  of  the  lark's  song  that  it  is  a 

silver  chain  of  sound 
Of  many  links,  without  a  break. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  many  other  songsters  all  the 


176         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

world  over — all,  in  fact,  that  do  not  sing  in  a  leisurely 
manner,  or,  like  the  throstle  and  nightingale,  with 
frequent  pauses.  But  chains  differ  in  form  ;  so  with 
these  chains  of  sound  of  the  rapid  singers  :  in  some  the 
links  (otherwise,  the  notes)  may  be  seen  and  distin- 
guished as  separate  parts  of  the  piece.  In  the  furze- 
wren  it  is  not  so  ;  the  excessive  rapidity  with  which  the 
notes  are  emitted  and  repeated  makes  the  performance 
more  like  a  close-woven  cord  than  a  chain,  and,  to 
continue  the  metaphor,  we  may  see  it  as  a  black  or 
grey  cord,  set  and  sparkling  with  loose  thread-ends  of 
silver,  gold  and  scarlet.  The  black  or  sombre  cord 
represents  the  low  chiding  or  buzzing  sound,  the 
brilliant  threads  the  bright,  shrill  and  delicate 
sounds. 

The  furze-wren  is  one  of  our  minor  songsters,  rank- 
ing with  the  stonechat,  dunnock,  redstart,  and  lesser 
whitethroat.  Its  chief  interest  is  its  originality — its 
unlikeness  to  that  of  any  other  singer.  This  makes  it 
difficult  to  describe,  since  we  cannot  convey  an  impres- 
sion of  a  bird  sound  or  song  except  by  likening  it  to 
other  well-known  sounds  or  songs.  Our  ornithologists, 
who  have  written  about  the  bird  for  the  last  century 
and  a  half,  have  not  attempted  to  describe  its  song. 
I  remember  that  I  once  asked  the  late  Howard  Saunders 
why  this  was  so,  and  his  reply  was  that  the  furze-wren 
has  such  a  curious  little  jiggy  song  that  you  couldn't 
describe  it.  Of  course  one  can  describe  the  song  of 
any  unhuman  being,  from  a  shrill  insect  to  an  angel, 
but  the  sad  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  the  impression 


THE  FURZE- WREN  177 

cannot  be  properly  conveyed  by  words  to  another. 
Nevertheless  the  description  may  be  a  help  to  the 
bird-seeker.  It  does  not  give  him  a  perfect  image  of 
the  song — only  the  bird  itself  can  do  that,  but  it  helps 
him  to  identify  the  singer  when  he  first  hears  it. 


12 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
BACK  TO  THE  WEST  COUNTRY 

MY  object  gained,  I  quitted  the  little  Hampshire 
village  the  richer  for  three  prized  memories  :  first 
and  best  was  that  of  the  people  I  had  been  staying 
with  in  their  cottage  ;  next  in  order  of  merit,  the  image 
of  those  little  feathered  fairies  in  a  vocal  rage  ;  and  last, 
that  of  five  white  or  cream-coloured  cows  issuing  from 
some  small  or  cottage  farm  at  the  side  of  the  heath, 
driven  or  followed  by  a  young  woman  to  their  daily 
grazing-place  on  some  distant  part  of  the  moor.  Every 
morning  they  appeared  from  among  the  green  foliage 
of  trees  and  shrubs,  behind  which  the  homestead  was 
hidden,  to  take  their  slow  way  over  the  wide  brown 
heath  in  a  scattered  procession,  always  followed  by  that 
young  woman,  tall  and  straight,  her  head  uncovered, 
her  limp  gown  of  a  whitey-grey  colour  almost  like  the 
white  of  the  cows.  A  beautiful  strange  spectacle, 
seen  from  afar  as  they  moved  across  the  moor  in  the 
dewy  shimmering  light  of  the  early  sun.  They  had  a 
misty  appearance,  and  there  was  something,  too,  of 
mystery  in  it,  due  perhaps  to  association — to  some  dim 
suggestion  of  ancient  human  happenings,  in  a  time 
178 


BACK  TO  THE  WEST  COUNTRY      179 

when  there  were  gods  who  heeded  man  and  white  cows 
that  were  sacred  to  them. 

I  had  seen  and  heard  and  made  these  precious  things 
mine  ;  now  I  wanted  to  turn  back  to  the  west  again, 
to  be  in  other  green  flowery  places  before  the  bloom 
was  gone.  It  was  nearing  mid-June  and  by  making 
haste  now  I  might  yet  find  some  other  feathered  rarity 
and  listen  to  some  new  song  before  the  silent  time.  The 
golden  oriole  and  furze-wren  were  but  two  of  half  a 
dozen  species  I  had  come  out  to  find. 

At  Yeovil  I  delayed  two  or  three  days  with  a 
double  motive. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  experiences  of  a  rambler 
about  the  land  is,  when  the  day's  end  has  brought  him 
to  some  strange  or  long  unvisited  place,  to  remember 
all  at  once  that  this  is  the  spot,  the  very  parish,  to  which 
old  friends  came  to  settle  two  or  three  or  more  years 
ago.  He  missed  their  dear  familiar  faces  sadly  in  that 
part  of  the  country  where  he  had  known  them,  but 
he  has  never  wholly  forgotten  or  ceased  to  love  them, 
and  now  how  delightful  to  find  and  drop  in  by  surprise 
on  them,  to  take  pot  luck  as  in  the  old  days,  to  talk  of 
those  same  dear  old  days  and  the  old  home,  of  every 
person  in  it  from  the  squire  to  the  village  idiot. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  these  lost  friends 
one  goes  about  to  recover  are  not  persons  of  importance 
who  keep  a  motor-car,  but  simple  people  who  live  and 
for  long  generations  have  lived  the  simple  life,  who 
are  on  the  soil  with  some  of  the  soil  on  them,  who 
see  few  visitors  from  a  distance — from  the  great  world, 


i8o        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

and  whose  glad  welcome  is  one  of  the  sweetest 
things  in  life. 

This  then  was  motive  the  first,  and  when  I  dis- 
covered my  lost  friends  not  far  from  the  town  I  found 
them  unchanged,  still  in  the  old  mind,  the  feeling 
that  I  was  one  of  them,  of  their  very  kin,  and  though 
rarely  seen  and  perhaps  regarded  as  the  vagabond  of 
the  family,  not  less  well  loved  on  that  account. 

My  second  object  was  to  look  at  Montacute  House 
and  park  which  had  been  missed  on  previous  visits. 
The  park  held  me  for  several  hours,  for  it  is  like  a 
wilderness  or  a  place  in  a  dispeopled  land  that  was  once 
a  park,  but  I  found  no  feathered  rarity  there  or  any- 
where in  the  country  round. 

As  to  the  famous  Montacute  house,  it  is  built  of  Ham 
Hill  stone — the  one  building  stone  I  cannot  abide. 
By  others  it  is  greatly  admired,  and  it  is  perhaps  worth 
explaining  why  I,  loving  colour  as  I  do,  yellows  as 
much  as  any,  have  this  feeling  about  our  famous  yellow 
stone.  It  is,  I  take  it,  an  associate  feeling  due  to  the 
disagreeable  effect  which  yellow  as  an  interior  colour 
produces  in  me.  Sherborne  Abbey  is  without  a  doubt 
one  of  our  noblest  ecclesiastical  buildings,  more  beautiful 
in  the  stone  sculpture  enriching  its  roof  than  any  cathe- 
dral or  church  in  the  land.  Yet  I  cannot  appreciate 
it,  since  the  effect  of  the  colour  is  a  severe  headache, 
a  profound  depression.  After  an  hour  inside  I  feel 
that  I  am  yellow  all  through,  that  my  very  bones  are 
dyed  yellow,  that  if  I  were  to  drop  down  among  the 
furze-bushes  on  some  neighbouring  common  and  rest 


BACK  TO  THE  WEST  COUNTRY      181 

there  undiscovered  for  several  years  those  who  found 
me  would  not  believe  that  my  remains  were  human, 
but  only  a  skeleton  cunningly  carved  out  of  Ham  Hill 
stone.  This  sensation,  or  its  memory,  or  the  feeling 
which  remains  in  the  mind  when  the  memory  and 
images  have  vanished,  enters  in  and  gives  an  ex- 
pression to  all  buildings  of  this  same  yellow  material. 
This  feeling  was  in  me  when  I  spent  a  couple  of  hours 
in  full  sight  of  Montacute  House ;  otherwise  I  should 
probably  have  thought,  as  no  doubt  most  persons  do, 
that  the  colour  of  the  stone  added  greatly  to  the 
beauty  of  the  building,  that  it  harmonized  with  its 
surroundings,  the  green  spaces  and  ancient  noble  trees, 
bathed  in  a  brilliant  sunlight,  and  the  wide  blue  sky 
above. 

On  my  first  evening  in  the  town  I  went  out  into  the 
neighbouring  wood  on  the  steep  slope  above  the  little 
river  Yeo,  and  listened  to  a  nightingale  for  half  an 
hour,  the  only  one  I  could  find  in  the  place.  On  the 
following  afternoon  I  had  sitting  opposite  to  me  at 
the  table  when  taking  tea  at  the  hotel  a  commercial 
traveller  whose  appearance  and  speech  amused  and 
interested  me.  A  tall  bony  uncouth-looking  young 
man  with  lantern  jaws  and  sunburned  skin,  in  a  rough 
suit  of  tweeds  and  thick  boots ;  he  was  more  like  a 
working  farmer  than  a  "  commercial,"  who  as  a  rule 
is  a  towny,  dapper  person.  I  ventured  the  remark 
that  he  came  from  the  north.  Oh  yes,  he  replied, 
from  a  manufacturing  town  in  Yorkshire ;  he  had 
been  visiting  the  West  of  England  for  the  last  two 


182         ADVENTURES  AMONG   BIRDS 

or  three  years,  and  this  was  the  first  time  he  had 
elected  to  spend  the  night  at  Yeovil.  He  had 
nothing  more  to  do  in  the  place,  having  finished 
his  business  early  in  the  afternoon.  He  could  have 
got  to  Bristol  or  gone  on  to  Exeter  ;  he  was  staying 
only  to  hear  the  nightingale.  He  had  never  heard  it, 
and  he  didn't  want  to  finish  his  rounds  on  this  occasion 
and  go  back  north  without  that  long-desired  experience. 
These  rough  fellows  from  the  north,  especially  from 
Yorkshire  and  Lancashire,  are  always  surprising  us 
with  their  enthusiasm,  their  aesthetic  feeling  !  One 
Sunday  morning  not  long  ago  I  was  on  the  cathedral 
green  at  Salisbury  watching  the  pigeons  and  daws  on 
the  vast  pile,  when  I  noticed  a  young  working  man 
with  his  wife  and  child  sitting  on  the  grass  by 
the  elm-trees.  They  had  a  luncheon  basket  with 
them,  and  were  evidently  out  for  the  day.  By- 
and-by  the  young  man  got  up  and  strolled  over 
to  where  I  was  standing,  looking  up  at  the  birds 
soaring  round  the  spire,  and,  entering  into  conver- 
sation with  me  he  told  me  that  he  was  a  zinc- 
worker  from  Sheffield,  that  he  had  been  sent  south  to 
work  at  Tidworth  in  the  erection  of  zinc  and  iron  build- 
ings for  the  Army.  When  he  saw  Salisbury  Cathedral 
and  heard  the  choir  he  was  so  delighted  that  he  resolved 
to  spend  his  Sundays  and  any  day  he  had  off  at  the 
cathedral.  He  was  musical  himself,  and  belonged  to 
some  musical  society  in  his  own  town.  He  talked  of 
his  love  of  music  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  while  he 
talked  he  continued  watching  the  birds,  the  daws  sweep- 


BACK  TO  THE  WEST  COUNTRY      183 

ing  round  and  round,  mounting  higher  and  higher  until 
they  were  above  the  cross ;  and  then  from  that  vast 
height  they  would  hurl  themselves  suddenly  downwards 
towards  the  great  building  and  the  earth.  All  at  once, 
as  we  watched  a  bird  coming  down,  he  threw  his  arms 
up  and  cried  excitedly,  "  Oh,  to  fly  like  that !  " 

And  you,  said  I  to  myself,  born  in  a  hideous  grimy 
manufacturing  town,  breathing  iron  dust,  a  worker  in 
an  ugly  material  engaged  in  making  ugly  things,  have 
yet  more  poetry  and  romance,  more  joy  in  all  that  is 
beautiful,  than  one  could  find  in  any  native  of  this  soft 
lovely  green  south  country  ! 

Does  not  this  fact  strike  every  observer  of  his 
fellows  who  knows  both  north  and  south  intimately  ? 
How  strange  then  to  think  that  well-nigh  all  that  is 
best  in  our  poetic  literature  has  been  produced  by 
southerners — by  Englishmen  in  the  southern  half  of  the 
country  !  Undoubtedly  the  poetic  feeling  is  stronger 
and  more  general  in  the  north,  and  we  can  only  conclude 
that  from  this  seemingly  most  favourable  soil  the 
divine  flower  of  genius  springeth  not. 

To  return  to  my  commercial  traveller.  I  told  him 
where  to  go  in  search  of  the  nightingale,  and  meeting 
him  later  that  evening  asked  him  if  he  had  succeeded. 
Yes,  he  replied,  he  had  found  and  listened  for  some 
time  to  its  song.  It  was  a  fine  song,  unlike  that  of 
any  other  bird  known  to  him,  but  it  did  not  come  up 
to  his  expectations,  and  he  had  formed  the  idea  that 
this  bird  was  probably  not  a  very  good  specimen  of  its 
kind.  It  consoled  him  to  be  told  that  he  was  absolutely 


1 84         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

right,  that  Yeovil's  one  nightingale  was  a  rather  poor 
performer. 

From  Yeovil  to  Glastonbury  is  but  a  few  miles, 
some  fifteen  as  the  crow  flies — no  distance  at  all  to  the 
person  of  importance  in  a  motor-car  and  nothing  to 
detain  him  by  the  way.  To  me — to  all  whose  desire 
in  travelling  is  not  to  arrive  at  their  destination — it 
was  as  far  as  I  liked  to  make  it.  It  was  in  fact  a 
vast  green  country  where  I  discovered  several  small 
ancient  towns  and  more  villages  than  I  can  remember  ; 
churches  in  the  shadow  of  whose  grey  old  towers  one 
would  like  to  spend  the  slow  last  years  of  life  ;  inns  too 
where  bread  and  cheese  and  beer,  if  nothing  else,  can 
be  obtained  for  refreshment,  and  the  cottage  homes  of 
the  people  one  loves  best.  They  are  never  wildly 
enthusiastic  like  the  Lancastrians  about  anything, 
but  they  are  sweeter,  more  engaging  in  temper  and 
manner,  whether  on  account  of  their  softer  climate  or 
the  larger  infusion  of  Celtic  blood  in  their  Anglo- 
Saxon  veins  I  know  not.  They  are  perhaps  a  perfect 
amalgam,  like  their  Welsh  neighbours  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Severn  with  the  harsh  lines  of  the  Welsh 
features  subdued,  and  like  their  Saxon  neighbours 
on  the  east  side  without  their  stolidity.  Moreover, 
they  are  not  without  a  spark  of  that  spirit  which  is  in 
the  northerner — the  romance,  the  inner  bright  life 
which  is  not  wholly  concerned  with  material  things. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AVALON    AND   A    BLACKBIRD 

AT  Glastonbury  I  spent  some  hours  at  the  Abbey, 
somewhat  disturbed  at  the  huge  diggings  and  a  little 
saddened  at  the  sight  of  the  repairs  and  restorations ; 
yet  they  were  necessary  if  this  loveliest  ruin  in  England 
is  to  be  kept  standing  a  few  centuries  longer.  Un- 
fortunately, however  skilfully  the  restoring  work  is 
done,  the  new  portions  will  insist  on  looking  out- 
rageously new.  Time  will  doubtless  restore  the  lost 
harmony,  the  ancient  venerable  appearance,  but  it  will 
be  long  before  these  staring  fresh  parts  will  cease  to 
have  the  effect  of  patches  of  a  new  cloth  on  the  frayed 
and  faded  garment.  Fifty  years  of  sun  and  rain  will 
prepare  the  fresh,  hard  surfaces  for  the  vegetation  that 
makes  a  ruin  beautiful — valerian,  ivy-toadflax,  wall- 
flower, and  grey  and  green  lichens  and  mosses. 

In  the  course  of  a  conversation  I  had  with  some  of 
those  engaged  in  these  works  at  the  Abbey,  during 
which  the  subject  of  birds  came  up,  Mr.  Blythe  Bond, 
the  gentleman  who  has  charge  of  the  excavations, 
informed  me  that  a  blackbird  in  his  garden  whistled 
a  perfect  musical  phrase. 

He  took  me  to  hear  it  at  his  house  in  the  High  Street, 
which  had  a  large  garden  at  the  back  ;  there  we  seated 
ourselves  in  the  summer-house  and  in  a  very  few 
185 


1 86         ADVENTURES  AMONG   BIRDS 

minutes  the  bird  began  fluting  his  little  human 
roundelay  for  our  benefit.  My  host  whistled  and 
hummed  it  after  him,  then  took  me  to  his  drawing- 
room  and  touched  it  off  on  his  piano,  and  finally  when 
I  told  him  that  after  all  it  would  perhaps  escape  my 
memory  he  noted  it  down  for  me,  and  here  it  is  : 


It  is  not  a  rare  thing  to  hear  phrases  in  the  black- 
bird's singing  which  are  like  human  music  and  speech 
and  may  be  taken  down  in  our  musical  notation.  I 
will  give  a  quotation  here  on  this  subject  from  one  of 
C.  A.  Johns'  pleasant  but  forgotten  little  books  — 
Home  Walks  and  Holiday  Rambles  (1863). 

"  A  blackbird  had  stationed  himself  on  the  top  of  a 
tree  hard  by,  and  seemed  resolved  to  sing  on  until 
fine  weather  returned.  The  burden  of  his  song  was 
the  following  passage,  which  was  repeated  so  often 
that  if  one  could  tire  of  natural  music  I  should  have 
been  tired  then  : 


"  All  the  other  strains  were  unmetrical,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  in  them  no  melodious  arrangement  of 
notes  ;  so  that  the  general  effect  was  nearly  what  could 
be  produced  by  a  person  talking  in  his  natural  tone  of 
voice,  and  repeatedly  introducing  a  snatch  of  an  old 


AVALON  AND  A   BLACKBIRD         187 

song  by  which  his  memory  was  haunted,  though  he 
was  unable  to  recall  either  the  words  or  the  melody  of 
the  remainder." 

This  is  interesting  because  it  is  so  common — the 
perfect  musical  phrase  occurring  in  a  song  which  is 
for  the  rest  of  a  quite  different  character. 

The  question  arises,  are  these  phrases  imitations  or 
natural  to  the  bird  ?  Human  music  in  bird-song  is 
a  subject  an  American  naturalist,  Mr.  Henry  Oldys, 
has  made  peculiarly  his  own,  and  he  will  be  welcomed 
by  all  lovers  of  bird  music  when  he  carries  out  his 
intention  of  coming  over  to  us  to  make  a  study  of  the 
British  songsters.  Meanwhile  we  have  the  late  C.  A. 
WitchelPs  Evolution  of  Bird-Song  to  go  on  with.  He 
has  recorded  in  musical  notation  no  fewer  than  seventy- 
six  blackbird  strains  in  his  book,  and  his  views  as  to  the 
origin  of  this  kind  of  singing,  in  which  the  phrases 
of  the  bird  are  identical  with  our  musical  intervals, 
are  of  very  great  interest,  as  he  is  the  only  person  in  this 
country  who  has  made  a  special  study  of  the  subject. 
There  is,  he  writes,  nothing  surprising  in  these  phrases 
when  we  consider  the  imitative  powers  of  the  best 
singers,  and  the  frequency  of  human  music  in  their 
haunts.  The  field-labourer  whistles ;  from  villages 
issue  louder,  though  not  always  sweeter,  musical 
sounds ;  throughout  the  year  music  is  heard  in  country 
towns.  It  appears  also  that  our  musical  scale  is  of 
remote  origin,  and  that  for  thousands  of  years  the 
intervals  which  we  now  employ  have  been  wafted  from 


1 88         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

musical  instruments  used  by  men  to  the  ears  of  listen- 
ing birds. 

This  is  far  from  convincing.  Some  of  our  song- 
birds are  imitative  in  a  much  higher  degree  than  the 
blackbird,  yet  never  come  near  to  human  music  in  their 
songs.  The  cuckoo  with  us  and  numerous  other  species 
all  the  world  over,  many  of  them  in  wild  lands  where 
human-made  music  is  never  wafted  to  their  ears,  do 
yet  observe  the  same  intervals  as  in  our  own  scale  in 
their  calls  and  songs.  My  belief  is  that  the  blackbird 
sings  in  this  way  naturally,  that  he  approaches  nearer 
to  us  in  his  musical  scale  just  as  the  grasshopper- 
warbler,  the  red  night-reeler,  and  the  furze-wren  go 
further  from  us  and  are  like  insects  in  their  music, 
simply  because  it  is  his  nature  to.  Blackbirds,  we 
have  seen,  are  distributed  pretty  well  all  over  the  globe 
and  are  of  many  species,  ranging  in  size  from  those  no 
bigger  than  a  throstle  to  others  large  as  or  larger  than 
jays,  but  all  have  beautiful  voices  which  remind 
English  travellers  in  tropical  forests  and  distant  temper- 
ate regions  of  the  home  bird,  and  in  some  instances  it 
is  said  to  sing  better  than  our  bird.  I  think  that  if  these 
travellers  had  been  specially  interested  in  this  subject 
and  had  listened  attentively  to  the  exotic  species,  they 
would  have  found  that  these  too  have  phrases  that 
sound  like  fragments  and  snatches  of  human  melodies. 

The  blackbird  often  reminds  me  of  the  common 
Patagonian  mocking-bird,  Mimus  patacbonicus,  not  in 
the  quality  of  the  sounds  emitted,  nor  in  the  shape  of 
the  song,  nor  in  any  resemblance  to  human  melody, 


AVALON  AND  A  BLACKBIRD         189 

but  in  the  way  the  bird  throws  out  his  notes  anyhow, 
until  in  this  haphazard  way  he  hits  on  a  sequence  of 
notes,  or  phrase,  that  pleases  him,  and  practises  it  with 
variations.  Finally,  he  may  get  fond  of  it  and  go  on 
repeating  it  for  days  or  weeks.  Every  individual  singer 
is,  so  to  speak,  his  own  composer. 

In  listening  to  a  blackbird,  even  where  there  is  no 
resemblance  to  a  man-made  melody,  it  always  appears 
to  me  to  come  nearer  to  human  music  than  any  other 
bird  songs ;  that  the  bird  is  practising,  or  composing, 
and  by-and-by  will  rise  to  a  melody  in  which  the 
musical  intervals  will  be  identical  with  those  of  our 
scale.  I  recall  the  case  of  a  blackbird  of  genius  I  once 
heard  near  Fawley  in  the  New  Forest.  This  bird  did 
not  repeat  a  strain  with  some  slight  variation  as  is  usually 
the  case,  but  sang  differently  each  time,  or  varied  the 
strain  so  greatly  as  to  make  it  appear  like  a  new  melody 
on  each  repetition,  yet  every  one  of  its  strains  could 
have  been  set  down  in  musical  notation.  A  musical 
shorthand-writer  could  in  a  few  days  have  filled  a 
volume  with  records  of  its  melodies,  and  they  would, 
I  think,  have  been  far  more  interesting  than  the 
seventy  odd  recorded  by  Witchell.  No  person  who 
had  listened  for  half  an  hour  to  this  bird  could  believe 
that  these  strains  were  borrowed.  They  were  too 
many  and  they  came  as  spontaneously  as  water  gushing 
from  a  rock.  The  bird  was  in  a  thorn  hedge  dividing 
two  grass  fields,  and  there  I  stood  for  a  long  time,  how 
long  I  do  not  know,  in  the  fading  light,  my  astonish- 
ment and  admiration  growing  all  the  time,  and  I  was 


190        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

like  one  in  a  trance,  or  like  the  monk  in  the  legend, 
only  my  wonderful  bird  was  black  instead  of  white. 
By-and-by  he  flew  away  and  that  was  the  last  of  him, 
for  on  other  days  I  searched  and  listened  for  him  in 
vain.  Perhaps  on  the  very  morning  after  that  evening 
he  fell  to  the  gun  of  some  person  anxious  about  the 
safety  of  his  reddening  strawberries — some  farmer  or 
cottager  who  did  not  know  that  he  was  killing  an  angel. 
However,  a  worse  fate  would  have  befallen  him  if  one 
of  those  who  prefer  to  have  their  birds  in  cages  had 
chanced  to  hear  his  wonderful  song  and  had  proceeded 
to  capture  him  for  exhibition  about  the  country, 
winning  great  glory  from  the  "  fancy  "  and  perhaps 
making  a  thousand  pounds  out  of  his  prisoner  for  life. 

This  character  of  the  blackbird's  music,  which  I 
have  been  discussing — its  resemblance  to  human-made 
music — is  not  the  whole  nor  the  principal  cause  of  its 
charm.  The  charm  is  chiefly  due  to  the  intrinsic 
beauty  of  the  sound  ;  it  is  a  fluty  sound  and  has  that 
quality  of  the  flute  suggestive  of  the  human  voice,  the 
voice  in  the  case  of  the  blackbird  of  an  exquisitely  pure 
and  beautiful  contralto.  The  effect  is  greatly  increased 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  notes  are  emitted — 
trolled  out  leisurely,  as  if  by  a  being  at  peace  and 
supremely  happy,  and  able  to  give  the  feeling  its  most 
perfect  expression. 

It  is  this  delicious  song  of  the  blackbird — a  voice 
of  the  loveliest  quality,  with  an  expression  derived  from 
its  resemblance  to  a  melodious,  brightened  human 
voice,  uttered  in  a  leisurely  and  careless  manner,  as  of 


AVALON  AND  A  BLACKBIRD         191 

a  person  talking  sweetly  and  mingling  talk  with 
snatches  of  song — it  is  all  this  combined  which  has 
served  to  make  the  blackbird  a  favourite  and  more 
to  most  of  us  as  a  songster  than  any  other,  not  excepting 
the  nightingale.  If  the  editor  of  some  widely-circu- 
lating newspaper  would  put  the  question  to  the  vote, 
the  blackbird  would  probably  come  first,  in  spite  of 
the  myths  and  traditions  which  have  endeared  certain 
other  species  to  us  from  childhood — the  cuckoo  the 
messenger  of  spring,  the  dove  that  mourns  for  its 
love,  and  Philomel  leaning  her  breast  upon  a  thorn; 
the  temple-building  martlet,  and  robin  redbreast 
who  in  winter  comes  to  us  for  crumbs  and  has  so  great 
an  affection  for  our  kind  that  in  woods  and  desert 
places  he  will  strew  leaves  over  the  friendless  bodies 
of  unburied  men. 

But,  it  may  be  said,  we  have  always  had  the  blackbird 
in  Britain,  a  resident  species,  very  common  and  univer- 
sally distributed — why  does  it  not  figure  more  promi- 
nently in  our  old  literature  ?  If  this  can  be  taken  as 
a  test  undoubtedly  the  blackbird  comes  a  long  way 
after  the  nightingale,  though  this  species  is  known  only 
in  a  portion  of  England,  actually  less  than  a  fourth 
part  of  the  British  area  over  which  the  black  ouzel  with 
orange-tawny  bill  is  a  familiar  songster.  It  is  however 
not  a  good  test.  The  fact  that  our  older  poets,  in- 
cluding those  of  Scotland  and  Wales,  make  much  of 
the  nightingale  merely  serves  to  show  that  they 
were  following  a  convention  of  the  Continental  poets, 
ancient  and  modern. 


192         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

Ireland  is  an  exception,  to  judge  from  the  transla- 
tions of  the  very  early  Irish  poetry  made  by  Professor 
Kuno  Meyer.  Here,  one  is  glad  to  find,  are  no  old 
imported  bird  myths  and  conventions,  but  a  native 
bird  life  and  a  feeling  for  birds  which  amaze  us  in 
those  remote  and  barbarous  times.  Many  species  are 
mentioned  in  these  poems,  from  the  largest — eagle 
and  raven  and  wild  goose — down  to  the  little  kitty 
wren,  but  the  blackbird  is  first  on  account  of  its  lovely 
voice — "  sweet  and  soft  and  peaceful  is  his  note,"  one 
has  it. 

There  is  one  blackbird  poem  in  the  collection  which 
might  have  been  written  by  a  poet  of  to-day.  For  we 
are  apt  to  think  that  to  love  birds  as  we  love  them,  not 
merely  as  feathered  angels,  beautiful  to  see  and  hear, 
but  with  human  tenderness  and  sympathy  as  beings 
that  are  kin  to  us,  is  a  feeling  peculiar  to  our  own  times. 
The  poet  laments  the  bird's  loss  when  it  has  seen  its 
nest  and  fledglings  destroyed  or  taken  by  ruthless  cow- 
boy lads.  He  can  understand  the  bird's  grief  "  for 
the  ruin  of  its  home,"  because  a  like  calamity  has  been 
his  :  his  wife  and  little  ones  are  dead,  and  though  their 
taking  off  was  bloodless  it  is  terrible  to  him  as  slaughter 
by  the  sword.  He  cries  out  against  the  injustice  of 
heaven,  for  even  as  that  one  nest  was  singled  out  among 
many  for  destruction  so  were  his  home  and  loved  ones  : 

O  Thou,  the  Shaper  of  the  world  ! 

Uneven  hands  Thou  layest  on  us  ; 
Our  fellows  at  our  side  are  spared, 

Their  wives  and  children  are  alive. 


AVALON  AND  A  BLACKBIRD        193 

There  is  another  remarkable  poem  conceived  in  the 
spirit  of  that  time  of  wild  passions  and  the  shedding  of 
blood,  in  which  the  first  early  note  of  the  blackbird 
with  its  message  to  the  "  faithful  "  is  introduced  in  a 
wonderfully  impressive  way.  This  tells  how  Fothad 
Canann  carried  off  the  wife  of  Alill  with  her  consent, 
and  was  hotly  pursued  by  Alill,  and  how  they  met  and 
fought  until  both  were  slain.  Now  Fothad  had  ar- 
ranged with  the  woman  to  meet  her  in  the  evening 
after  the  fight,  and  true  to  his  word  he  kept  the  tryst. 
As  he  comes  to  her  she  flies  to  meet  him,  to  clasp  him 
with  her  arms  and  pour  out  all  her  passion  on  his  breast. 
But  he  will  not  have  it,  he  waves  her  back  imperiously 
and  will  not  allow  her  to  utter  a  word.  He  must  do  all 
the  talking  himself,  for  he  is  overflowing  with  great 
matters,  great  news,  and  the  time  for  telling  them  is 
short.  He  tells  her  how  they  fought,  how  well  they 
were  matched,  what  a  glorious  battle  it  was !  One 
can  see  it — the  deadly  meeting  of  those  two  long-haired 
men,  their  blue-grey  eyes  glinting  with  rage  and  the 
joy  of  battle  ;  the  shouts  of  defiance  and  insult ;  the 
furious  onset  and  the  swift  movements  of  their  lithe 
and  powerful  frames,  as  of  tigers ;  the  ringing  blows 
on  shield  and  steel,  and  the  end  when  they  are  down, 
their  shields  shattered  and  weapons  broken,  their 
bodies  hacked  and  pierced,  their  spilt  blood  spreading 
and  mingling  in  one  pool ! 

To  such  a  fighter,  slain  in  such  a  fight,  what  else 
was  there  in  the  world  to  talk  about !  She,  and  her 
passion  and  everlasting  grief  for  her  slain  lover — it 
'3 


194        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

was  not  worth  a  thought !  The  fight  was  the  thing, 
and  she  must  listen  in  silence  to  the  story  of  it — she, 
the  last  human  listener  he  would  ever  have. 

Suddenly  the  torrent  of  speech  is  arrested  ;  the  voice 
of  the  blackbird  "  sweet  and  soft  and  peaceful,"  comes 
to  them  out  of  the  darkness.  Hark  !  he  cries  to  her 
before  vanishing  for  ever  from  her  sight, 

I  hear  the  dusky  ouzel  send  a  joyous  greeting  to  the  faithful, 

My  speech,  my  shape,  are  spectral — hush,  woman,  do  not  speak  to  me  ! 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  LAKE  VILLAGE 

FROM  the  Abbey  to  the  prehistoric  Lake  Village  is  but 
a  step  of  two  miles,  and  here  I  spent  agreeable  hours 
with  Dr.  Bulleid,  the  discoverer  and  excavator  of  this 
little  centre  of  British  life  of  the  dawn,  turning  over 
his  finds  dug  out  of  the  black,  peaty  soil.  Here  is  an 
enthusiast  if  you  like — there  are  some  in  the  south  ! — 
a  busy  doctor  who  works  every  day  of  the  year  in  his 
practice,  excepting  when  he  takes  an  annual  summer 
holiday  of  a  few  weeks  and  spends  every  day  of  it,  from 
morn  to  dewy  eve,  at  the  excavations,  studying  every 
spadeful  of  earth  thrown  up  by  his  dozen  diggers. 
My  chief  interest  was  in  the  bones  of  the  large  water- 
birds  on  which  the  lake-dweller  subsisted,  and  the 
weapons  with  which  he  slew  them — the  round,  hard 
clay  balls  which  were  hurled  from  slings. 

From  the  village  I  rambled  on  over  the  bed  of  the 
ancient  lake  to  its  deeper  part,  which  is  still  a  wet 
marsh,  though  partly  drained  and  intersected  with 
hedges  and  dykes.  Here  there  are  large  areas  of  boggy 
ground  so  thickly  grown  over  with  cotton-grass  that 
at  a  little  distance  it  looks  like  an  earth  covered  with 
snow.  Straying  in  this  place,  revelling  in  that  wind- 
195 


196        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

waved  feathery  fairy  whiteness  all  round  me,  I  finally 
sat  down  by  the  water-side  to  watch  and  listen. 
Mallard,  moorhen,  and  water-rail,  the  last  heard 
though  not  seen,  and  little  grebe  were  there,  but  no 
unfamiliar  sound  came  to  me  from  the  songsters  in  the 
sedges  and  bulrushes  or  from  the  osiers  and  alders. 

I  was  perhaps  inattentive ;  mine  on  this  occasion 
was  a  wandering  mind  ;  I  was  still  suffering  from  the 
effect  of  my  interview  with  Dr.  Bulleid  ;  for  even  the 
dullest  person  among  us  cannot  very  well  spend  an 
hour  with  an  enthusiast  without  catching  something 
from  him — a  slight  rise  in  his  tepid  temperature,  a 
little  rose-coloured  rash  on  his  skin,  which  will  presently 
vanish  and  leave  him  well  again — as  sane  and  healthy 
a  person  as  he  ever  was  and  ever  will  be  to  the  end  of 
his  comfortable,  humdrum  existence.  But  just  then, 
with  the  infection  still  in  me,  I  was  inhabiting  two 
worlds  at  one  and  the  same  time — that  dank  green 
marshy  world,  whitened  with  cotton-grass,  once  a 
great  inland .  lake  and  before  that  an  estuary  which 
was  eventually  cut  off  from  the  Severn  Sea  through 
the  silting  up  of  the  sand  at  its  mouth.  And  I  was  also 
in  that  same  shallow  inland  sea  or  lake,  unmoved  by 
tides,  which  had  been  growing  shallower  year  by 
year  for  centuries  with  a  rank  aquatic  vegetation  spread- 
ing over  it  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see — a  green  watery 
world.  I  could  hear  the  wind  in  the  bulrushes — 
miles  on  miles  of  dark  polished  stems,  tufted  with  ruddy 
brown  :  that  low,  mysterious  sound  is  to  me  the  most 
fascinating  of  all  the  many  voices  of  the  wind.  The 


THE  LAKE  VILLAGE  197 

feeling  is  partly  due  to  early  associations,  to  boyhood, 
when  I  used  to  ride  into  the  vast  marshes  of  the  pampas 
in  places  where,  sitting  on  my  horse,  the  tufted  tops 
of  the  bulrushes  were  on  a  level  with  my  face.  I 
sought  for  birds'  nests,  above  all  for  that  of  the  strange 
little  bittern.  It  was  a  great  prize,  that  small  plat- 
form of  yellow  sedge  leaves,  a  foot  or  two  above  the 
water,  with  three  oval  eggs  no  bigger  than  pigeon's  eggs 
resting  on  it,  of  a  green  so  soft,  brilliant,  indescribably 
lovely,  that  the  sight  of  them  would  thrill  me  like  some 
shining  supernatural  thing  or  some  heavenly  melody. 

Or  on  a  windy  day  when  I  would  sit  by  the  margin 
to  listen  to  the  sound  unlike  any  other  made  by  the 
wind  in  the  green  world.  It  was  not  continuous, 
nor  one,  like  the  sea-like  sound  of  the  pines,  but  in  gusts 
from  this  part  or  that  all  round  you,  now  startlingly 
loud,  then  quickly  falling  to  low  murmurings,  always 
with  something  human  in  it,  but  wilder,  sadder,  more 
airy  than  a  human  voice,  as  of  ghost-like  beings,  invisible 
to  me,  haunting  the  bulrushes,  conversing  together 
and  calling  to  one  another  in  their  unearthly  tones. 

And  the  birds !  Ah,  to  be  back  in  the  Somerset  of 
that  far  time — the  paradise  of  birds  in  its  reedy  inland 
sea,  its  lake  of  Athelney  ! 

I  have  often  wished  to  be  back  in  the  old  undrained 
Lincolnshire  for  the  sake  of  its  multitudinous  wild  bird 
life  in  far  more  recent  times,  as  described  by  eye- 
witnesses— Michael  Dray  ton  for  example,  no  longer 
ago  than  the  time  of  Elizabeth.  Does  any  bird-loving 
reader  know  the  passage  ?  I  doubt  it,  for  is  there  any 


198        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

one  in  England,  including  the  student  of  the  poetry  of 
that  period,  who  can  say  with  his  hand  on  his  heart 
that  he  has  read  the  whole  of  "  Polyolbion  " — every 
twelve-foot  line  of  its  many  thousands,  each  line 
laboriously  dragging  its  slow  length  along  ?  It  is  hard 
to  read  even  the  hundred  lines  descriptive  of  the  fens 
except  for  the  picture  conjured  up  of  those  marvellous 
bird  gatherings.  It  was  Lincolnshire's  boast,  according 
to  Drayton,  that  no  such  abundance  could  be  seen  in 
any  other  part  of  the  kingdom.  I  imagine  that  there 
was  an  even  greater  abundance  and  variety  in  the 
Somerset  lake  of  prehistoric  times.  It  was  a  better 
climate,  a  more  sheltered  district,  and  birds  must  have 
been  far  more  numerous  in  the  ages  before  man  found 
out  how  to  slay  them  at  long  distances  with  guns  and 
to  frighten  them  with  smoke  and  flame  and  a  noise  like 
thunder. 

Now,  with  Drayton's  picture  in  my  mind  and  many 
old  memories  of  immense  congregations  of  wild  fowl 
in  the  lakes  and  marshes  of  a  distant  region,  witnessed 
in  my  early  years  but  nevermore  to  be  seen,  I  could 
reconstruct  the  past.  Indeed,  for  a  little  space,  while 
the  infection  lasted,  I  was  there  afloat  on  that  endless 
watery  wilderness  as  it  appeared  to  the  lake  dweller  of, 
say,  twenty-five  centuries  ago.  The  lake  dweller  him- 
self was  with  me,  poling  and  paddling  his  long  canoe  by 
devious  ways  over  the  still  waters,  by  miles  and  leagues 
of  grey  rushes  and  sedges  vivid  green,  and  cat's-tail 
and  flowering  rush  and  vast  dark  bulrush  beds  and 
islets  covered  with  thickets  of  willow  and  alder  and 


THE  LAKE  VILLAGE  199 

trees  of  larger  growth.     It  was  early  morning  in  early 
spring  :   at  all  events  the  geese  had  not  gone  yet,  but 
were  continually  flying  by  overhead,  flock  succeeding 
flock,  filling  the  world  with  their  clangour.     I  watched 
the  sky  rather  than  the  earth,  feasting  my  eyes  on  the 
long-unseen  spectacle  of  great  soaring  birds.     Buzzard 
and  kite  and  marsh  harrier  soared  in  wide  circles  above 
me,  raining  down  their  wild  shrill  cries.     Other  and 
greater  birds  were  there  as  well,  and  greatest  of  all 
the  pelican,  one  of  the  large  birds  on  which  the  marsh- 
men  lived,  but  doomed  to  vanish  and  be  forgotten 
as  a  British  species  long  ages  before  Drayton  lived. 
But  his  familiar  osprey  was  here  too,  a  king  among  the 
hawks,  sweeping  round  in  wide  circles,  to  pause  by-and- 
by  in  mid  career  and  closing  his  wings  fall  like  a  stone 
upon  the  water  with  a  mighty  splash.     We  floated  in 
a  world  of  birds ;  herons  everywhere  standing  motion- 
less in  the  water,  and  flocks  of  spoonbills  busily  at  feed, 
and  in  the  shallower  places  and  by  the  margins  innumer- 
able   shore-birds,    curlews,    godwits,  and    loquacious 
black   and  white   avocets.     Sheldrakes    too   in   flocks 
rose  up  before  us,  with  deep  honking  goose-like  cries, 
their  white  wings  glistening  like  silver  in  the  early 
morning  sunlight.     Other  sounds  came  from  a  great 
way  off,  faintly  heard,  a  shrill  confused  buzzing  clan- 
gour as  of  a  swarm  of  bees  passing  overhead,  and  looking 
that  way  we  saw  a  cloud  rising  out  of  the  reeds  and 
water,  then  another  and  another  still — clouds  of  birds, 
each  its  own  colour,  white,  black,  and  brown,  according 
to  the  species — gulls,  black  terns,  and  wild  duck.     Seen 


200        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

at  that  distance  they  appeared  like  clouds  of  starlings 
in  the  evening  at  their  winter  roosting  haunts.  Pre- 
sently the  clouds  dispersed  or  settled  on  the  water 
again,  and  for  a  little  space  it  seemed  a  silent  world. 
Then  a  new  sound  was  heard  from  some  distant  spot 
perhaps  a  mile  away — a  great  chorus  of  wild  ringing 
jubilant  cries,  echoing  and  re-echoing  all  over  that 
illimitable  watery  expanse ;  and  I  knew  it  was  the 
crane — the  giant  crane  that  hath  a  trumpet  sound  ! 

These  birds  were  all  very  real  to  me,  seen  very 
vividly,  their  voices  so  loud  and  clear  that  they  startled 
and  thrilled  me ;  but  the  long-haired  brown-skinned 
marshman  who  was  my  boatman  was  seen  less  dis- 
tinctly. The  anthropological  reader  will  be  disap- 
pointed to  learn  that  no  clear  image  was  retained  of  his 
height,  build,  features,  and  the  colour  of  his  eyes  and 
hair,  and  that  the  sense  of  all  his  wild  jabber  and 
gestures  has  quite  gone  out  of  my  memory. 

From  all  this  greatness  of  wild  bird  life,  seen  in  a 
vision,  I  returned  to  reality  and  to  very  small  things ; 
one  of  which  came  as  a  pleasant  surprise.  I  went  on  to 
the  Cheddar  valley  and  near  Winscombe  I  dropped  in 
on  an  old  friend,  a  writer  and  a  lover  of  birds,  who  had 
built  himself  a  charming  bungalow  among  the  Mendips. 
We  had  tea  on  the  terrace,  a  nice  cool  rose  and  creeper- 
shaded  place  after  my  long  hot  ramble,  a  green  lawn 
beneath  us,  with  a  row  of  large  pine  trees  on  its  other 
side.  My  friend  was  telling  me  of  a  flock  of  crossbills 
which  to  his  delight  had  been  haunting  the  place  for 
some  days  past,  when  lo!  down  came  the  very  birds, 


THE  LAKE  VILLAGE  201 

and  there  for  half  an  hour  we  had  them  right  before 
us  while  we  drank  tea  and  ate  strawberries,  and  watched 
them  working  at  the  cones — our  quaint  pretty  little 
parrots  of  the  north,  so  diversely  coloured — one  red  like 
a  red  cardinal,  one  or  two  yellow,  others  green  or  mixed. 
On  the  following  day  I  was  at  Wells ;  it  was  Sunday, 
and  in  the  morning,  happening  to  see  the  bell-ringers 
hurrying  into  St.  Cuthbert's  church,  I  was  reminded 
of  an  old  wish  of  mine  to  be  in  a  belfry  during  the  bell- 
ringing.  This  wish  and  intention  was  formed  some 
years  ago  on  reading  an  article  in  the  Saturday  Review 
by  Walter  Herries  Pollock,  describing  his  sensations 
in  a  belfry.  Here  then  was  my  opportunity — a  better 
could  not  have  been  found  if  I  had  sought  for  it.  St. 
Cuthbert's  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  great  Glaston- 
bury  church  towers,  with  a  peal  of  eight  big  bells.  I 
had  often  listened  to  them  with  pleasure  from  a  re- 
spectable distance,  and  now  I  felt  a  slight  twinge  of 
apprehension  at  the  prospect  of  a  close  acquaintance. 
The  bell-ringers  were  amused  at  my  request :  nobody 
ever  wanted  to  be  among  the  bells  when  they  were 
being  rung,  they  assured  me ;  however,  they  did  not 
object,  and  so  to  the  belfry  I  climbed,  and  waited,  a 
little  nervously,  as  some  musical  enthusiast  might  wait 
to  hear  a  symphony  from  the  days  of  the  giants,  com- 
posed (when  insane)  by  a  giant  Tschaikovsky,  to  be 
performed  on  "  instruments  of  unknown  form  "  and 
gigantic  size.  I  was  not  disappointed ;  the  effect  was 
too  awful  for  words  and  was  less  musical  than  I  had 
thought  it  would  be.  In  less  than  three  minutes  it 


202        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

became  unendurable,  and  I  then  slipped  out  on  to  the 
roof  to  save  myself  from  some  tremendous  disaster. 
In  a  minute  I  was  back  again,  and  with  intervals  of 
escape  to  the  roof  I  remained  till  the  ringing  finished. 
I  could  not  have  stood  it  otherwise,  and  as  it  was, 
I  feared  every  moment  that  it  would  deafen  me  per- 
manently so  that  I  would  no  more  hear  birds  sing. 
That,  to  me,  would  be  the  end  of  all  things.  Pollock, 
in  the  article  mentioned  above,  has  described  the 
sensations  I  experienced  in  a  sentence  or  two.  "  It 
is  not  like  the  voice  of  any  single  singer  nor  like  the 
voices  of  a  trained  choir,"  he  wrote.  "  It  is  more  the 
speech,  resolved  into  musical  sound,  of  a  vast  crowd 
half  perhaps  rather  than  wholly  human,  whose  accents 
vary  from  the  highest  joyousness  to  the  deepest  mel- 
ancholy, from  notes  of  solemn  warning  to  cries  of 
terrifying  denunciation  and  all  that  of  course  with  an 
infinity  of  half  and  quarter  shades  of  expression." 

Probably  the  St.  Cuthbert  bells  were  larger  than 
those  he  heard,  and  perhaps  I  was  closer  to  them — I  was 
in  fact  in  the  belfry  with  them — as  I  found  no  joyous 
expression  in  the  sound  at  all ;  it  was  all  terrible,  and 
the  worst  thing  in  it,  which  he  does  not  mention,  was 
a  continuous  note,  a  single  loud  metallic  sound,  per- 
sisting through  all  the  shrieking,  crashing,  and  roaring, 
like  the  hum  of  a  threshing-machine  so  loud  and  sharp 
that  it  seemed  to  pierce  the  brain  like  a  steel  weapon. 
It  was  this  unbroken  sound  which  was  hardest  to  endure 
and  would,  I  imagined,  send  me  out  of  my  senses  al- 
together if  I  stayed  too  long  in  the  belfry. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  Music 

FROM  Wells  I  went  on  to  Bristol  and  thence  to  Chep- 
stow,  where,  a  few  miles  out,  I  hoped  to  find  one  of 
my  rare  birds,  but  on  enquiry  discovered  that  it  had 
long  vanished  from  this  haunt.  There  was  nothing 
for  me  but  to  extract  what  pleasure  I  could  from  the 
castle,  the  valley  of  the  Wye,  and  Tintern  Abbey. 
At  Chepstow,  a  small  parasitic  town  much  given  to 
drink,  I  saw  two  wonderful  things,  which  the  guide- 
book writers  probably  do  not  notice — a  walnut  tree  and 
an  ivy  tree,  both  growing  in  the  castle.  The  first 
must  be  one  of  the  finest  walnut  trees  in  the  country  : 
one  of  its  enormous  horizontal  branches  measured 
eighteen  yards  from  the  trunk  to  the  end  ;  the  branch 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  trunk  measured  fifteen 
yards,  giving  the  tree  a  breadth  of  ninety-nine  feet ! 
The  other,  the  ivy,  was  a  tree  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  word,  that  is  to  say,  a  plant  above  the  size  of  a 
bush  which  is  not  a  parasite  supported  by  another  tree 
but  wholly  self-sustained.  It  grows  near  but  not  touch- 
ing the  wall,  with  a  round  straight  bole  three  feet  in 
circumference  and  fifteen  feet  in  height,  with  a  rough 
elm-tree-like  bark,  crowned  with  a  dense  round  mass 
203 


204        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

of  branches  and  leaves.  Doubtless  it  once  grew  on 
a  tree  and  had  a  strong  straight  bole  of  its  own  when 
the  tree  died,  and  during  the  slow  dying  and  gradual 
decay  of  the  support  it  added  to  its  wood  and  grew 
harder  to  meet  the  changing  situation,  until  when 
the  old  trunk  it  grew  against  had  crumbled  to  dust  it 
was  able  to  stand  erect,  a  perfect  independent  tree. 

At  the  too  famous  Abbey  the  chief  interest  was  in 
the  birds.  Starlings,  sparrows,  and  daws  were  there  in 
numbers,  and  many  blue  and  ox-eye  tits,  fly-catchers, 
and  redstarts,  all  feeding  their  young  or  bringing  them 
off.  The  starlings  were  most  abundant,  and  the  young 
were  being  spilt  from  the  walls  all  over  the  place.  I 
talked  with  a  slow  old  labourer  who  was  lazily  sweeping 
.the  dead  leaves  and  straws  from  the  smooth  turf  which 
forms  the  floor  of  the  roofless  ruin,  when  one  of  the 
young  birds,  more  stupid  than  the  others,  began 
following  us  about,  clamouring  to  be  fed.  The  old 
sweeper,  using  his  broom,  gently  pushed  the  poor  fool 
away  :  "  There,  there,  go  away,  or  you'll  be  getting 
hurt,"  he  said,  and  the  bird  went. 

"  No  more  rare  birds  this  season  !  "  I  said  and  turned 
homewards ;  but  in  Gloucestershire  I  found  a  man  who 
told  me  of  a  colony  of  the  marsh  warbler,  a  rarity  I  had 
not  counted  on  meeting ;  better  still,  he  took  me  to 
it,  although  he  wished  me  to  understand  that  it  was  his 
colony,  his  own  discovery,  also  that  he  had  been  making 
a  good  thing  out  of  it.  He  left  me  on  the  spot  to 
experience  that  rarest  delight  of  the  bird-seeker,  the 
making  the  acquaintance,  and  growing  hourly  and 


THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  MUSIC     205 

daily  more  intimate  with,  a  new  species.  In  this 
instance  it  was  nothing  but  a  plain  little  brown  bird, 
plainer  than  the  nightingale  and  hardly  to  be  distin- 
guished, even  in  the  hand,  from  the  familiar  reed 
warbler,  but  in  virtue  of  its  melody  of  a  lustre  surpassing 
our  blue  kingfisher  or  indeed  any  shining  bird  of  the 
tropics. 

The  colony  was  in  a  withy  bed  of  a  year's  growth, 
the  plants  being  three  or  four  feet  high,  the  whole 
ground  being  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  tall 
grasses  and  sedges,  meadow-sweet,  comfrey,  and  nettles. 
It  was  moist  and  boggy  in  places  but  without  water, 
except  in  one  small  pool  which  served  as  a  drinking  and 
bathing  place  to  all  the  small  birds  in  the  vicinity. 

Sitting  on  a  mound  a  few  feet  above  the  surface  I 
could  survey  the  whole  field  of  seven  to  eight  acres 
enclosed  by  high  hedges  and  old  hedgerow  elm  and  oak 
trees  on  three  sides,  with  a  row  of  pollarded  willows 
on  the  other,  and  I  was  able  to  make  out  about  nine 
pairs  of  marsh  warblers  in  the  colony.  It  was  easy 
to  count  them,  as  each  couple  had  its  own  territory, 
and  the  males  were  conspicuous  as  they  were  con- 
stantly flying  about  in  pursuit  of  the  females  or  chasing 
away  rival  cocks,  then  singing  from  the  topmost  twigs 
of  the  withy-bushes.  This,  I  found,  was  but  one  of  a 
group  of  colonies,  the  birds  in  all  of  which  numbered 
about  seventy  pairs.  Yet  it  only  became  known  in 
quite  recent  years  that  the  marsh  warbler  is  a  British 
breeding  species !  It  had  been  regarded  previously 
as  a  chance  or  occasional  visitor  from  the  continent, 


206        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

until  Mr.  Warde  Fowler  discovered  that  it  was  a 
regular  summer  visitant  to  Oxfordshire,  also  that  it 
was  the  latest  of  our  migrants  to  arrive  and  a  later 
breeder  by  several  weeks.  It  is  curious  that  in  a  small 
country  so  infested  with  ornithologists  as  ours  this  species 
should  have  been  overlooked.  They,  the  ornithologists 
and  collectors,  say  that  it  is  not  so,  that  a  bird  with  so 
beautiful  a  song,  so  unlike  that  of  his  nearest  relations 
the  reed  and  sedge  warblers,  could  not  have  been  over- 
looked. Undoubtedly  it  was  overlooked,  and  this 
colony,  or  group  of  colonies,  numbering  seventy  or 
more  pairs,  must  be  quite  an  ancient  one.  There  are 
others  too  in  Somerset,  and  no  doubt  many  besides  in 
the  west  country  and  midlands.  The  species  has  not 
diffused  itself  more  in  the  country,  I  imagine,  on  ac- 
count of  its  habit  of  nesting  almost  exclusively  in  the 
withy  beds,  where  their  nests  are  as  much  exposed  to 
destruction  as  those  of  the  skylark  and  land-rail  in  the 
corn.  The  moist  grounds  where  the  willows  are 
planted  are  covered  annually  with  a  luxuriant  growth 
of  grasses  and  herbage  which  must  be  cut  down  to  give 
air  and  life  to  the  willows.  The  cutting  usually  takes 
place  about  mid-June  when  the  eggs  are  being  laid 
and  incubation  is  already  in  progress  in  many  nests. 
The  nests,  whether  attached  to  the  withies  or  to  the 
tall  stems  of  the  meadow-sweet  and  other  plants,  are 
mostly  destroyed. 

I  have  gone  into  these  details  just  to  show  that  it 
would  be  easy  to  give  this  bird  a  better  chance  of  in- 
creasing its  numbers  by  inducing  the  owners  of  withy 


THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  MUSIC     207 

beds  where  they  are  known  to  breed  to  do  the  mowing 
at  the  end  of  May  instead  of  in  the  middle  of  June  or 
later.  This  could  be  best  done  by  local  bird-protect- 
ing societies  in  Gloucestershire  and  Somerset  and  in 
other  counties  where  colonies  may  be  found. 

Certainly  no  sweet  songster  in  Britain  is  better 
worth  preserving  than  the  marsh  warbler.  I  should 
class  it  as  one  of  our  four  greatest — blackbird,  nightin- 
gale, skylark,  marsh  warbler.  The  blackbird  is  first 
because  of  the  beautiful  quality  of  its  voice  and  its 
expression,  due  to  its  human  associations.  The  marsh 
warbler  compared  with  lark  and  nightingale  has  a 
small  voice,  which  does  not  carry  far,  but  in  sweetness 
he  is  the  equal  of  any  and  in  variety  excels  them  all. 
It  could  not  be  otherwise,  since  he  is  able  to  borrow 
the  songs  of  the  others,  even  of  the  best.  He  is 

That  cheerful  one  who  knoweth  all 
The  songs  of  all  the  winged  choristers, 
And  in  one  sequence  of  melodious  sound 
Pours  all  their  music. 

Thus  wrote  Southey  of  the  American  bird  in  one  of 
the  very  few  quotable  passages  in  the  vast  volume  of 
his  numerous  epics  :  his  three  or  four  happy  lines  are 
worth  more  as  giving  the  bird  its  characteristic  ex- 
pression, than  all  the  verses  of  the  transatlantic  poets 
on  the  subject. 

The  mocking-bird,  I  may  say  here,  is  a  powerful 
singer,  and  I  noticed  that  in  listening  to  the  white- 
winged  mocking-bird  of  Patagonia,  which  I  believe 
to  be  the  greatest  of  the  genus,  he  subdued  or  smalled 


208        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

his  voice  when  imitating  the  small  or  weak- voiced 
songsters,  but  in  spite  of  the  subduing  the  song, 
coming  from  his  larger  organ,  had  gained  in 
power  and  penetration.  With  the  marsh  warbler 
it  is  just  the  reverse  :  the  low  songs  are  reproduced 
with  fidelity,  the  loud  strains  while  retaining  their 
exact  form  are  emitted  in  a  lower  tone.  Thus,  he  can 
copy  the  phrases  of  the  thrush,  but  the  notes  do  not 
carry  much  further  than  his  imitation  of  the  willow- 
wren.  One  is  reminded  of  Sir  John  Davies'  lines — 

All  things  received  do  such  proportions  take 
As  those  things  have  wherein  they  are  received  ; 

So  little  glasses  little  faces  make, 
And  narrow  webs  on  narrow  frames  be  weaved. 

On  the  other  hand  he  makes  many  of  the  songs  he 
copies  sweeter  and  more  beautiful  than  their  originals. 
We  may  say  that  he  is  a  perfect  artist  in  his  borrowings, 
and  brings  the  songs  of  all  the  others  into  harmony 
with  his  own  native  notes  and  with  one  another.  This 
was  observed  by  Warde  Fowler,  who  was  the  first  in 
England  to  describe  the  song.  He  wrote  :  "  In  spite 
of  many  imitations  in  which  the  bird  indulges  there  is 
always  a  very  sweet  silvery  individuality  about  the 
song,  which  makes  it  quite  unmistakable."  In  that 
native  quality  of  the  voice,  its  silvery  sweetness, 
it  comes  nearest,  I  think,  to  the  reed  warbler's  song. 
Its  silvery  sweet  quality  is  indeed  the  principal  merit 
of  this  warbler's  strains,  which  can  only  be  properly 
appreciated  when  the  listener  stands  or  sits  on  a  level 
with  the  reeds  within  a  very  few  yards  of  the  singer. 


THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  MUSIC     209 

Listening  to  the  marsh  warbler  at  some  distance 
it  seemed  to  me  at  first  that  he  sang  his  own  song 
interspersed  with  imitations,  that  the  borrowed  songs 
and  phrases  were  selections  which  accorded  best  with 
his  own  notes,  so  that  the  whole  performance  was  like 
one  ever-varying  melody.  On  a  closer  acquaintance  I 
found  that  the  performance  was  mainly  or  nearly  all 
imitations  in  which  the  loud,  harsh,  and  guttural  sounds 
were  subdued  and  softened — that  the  mocker's  native 
silvery  sweetness  had  in  some  degree  been  imparted  to 
all  of  them.  The  species  whose  songs,  detached  phrases, 
and  calls  I  recognized  were  the  swallow,  sparrow, 
goldfinch,  greenfinch,  chaffinch,  redpoll,  linnet,  reed- 
bunting,  blackbird  (its  chuckle  only),  throstle,  missel- 
thrush  (its  alarm  or  anger  cry),  blackcap,  willow-wren, 
robin,  redstart,  whinchat,  yellow  wagtail,  tree-pipit, 
skylark,  and  partridge — its  unmistakable  call,  but 
subdued  and  made  musical.  There  were  also  some 
notes  and  phrases  that  seemed  perfect  copies  from 
the  nightingale,  but  I  would  not  say  that  they  were 
imitations  as  there  were  no  nightingales  at  that  spot, 
and  I  came  to  the  listening  in  a  sceptical  spirit,  quite 
resolved  not  to  believe  that  any  note  or  phrase  or 
song  could  be  an  imitation  unless  the  bird  supposed 
to  be  imitated  could  be  found  in  the  vicinity.  Another 
bird  I  could  not  find  in  the  place  was  the  grasshopper 
warbler,  yet  one  day  one  of  the  birds  I  listened  to  pro- 
duced what  seemed  to  me  a  most  perfect  imitation  of 
its  reeling  performance. 

But  how,  the  reader  will    ask,  could  the    marsh 


210        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

warbler  have  acquired  the  redpoll's  song  seeing  that 
the  redpoll  would  be  far  away  in  its  breeding  haunts 
in  the  pine  forests  of  the  north  when  the  warbler 
was  in  the  west  country  ?  Strange  to  say  there  was  a 
small  colony  of  half  a  dozen  redpoll  pairs  breeding  in 
the  hedgerow  elms  at  the  side  of  the  withy  bed.  My 
guide  to  the  spot  had  told  me  of  these  birds,  and  it 
was  a  rare  pleasure  to  listen  in  southern  England  to 
their  slight  pretty  song  in  the  elm  tops,  with  its 
curious  little  breezy  trill  like  a  dry  leaf  rapidly 
fluttered  by  the  wind  against  another  leaf. 

I  did  not  hear  an  imitation  of  the  blackbird's  song, 
although  its  chuckling  notes  were  sometimes  given, 
and  it  struck  me  that  the  marsh  warbler,  good  artist 
that  he  is,  does  not  attempt,  like  the  bungling  starling, 
to  reproduce  sounds  that  are  outside  of  his  register. 
Other  listeners,  however,  have  said  that  he  does  mimic 
the  blackbird's  song.  Then,  as  to  the  whinchat,  in 
two  days'  listening  I  heard  no  imitation  of  its  song, 
although  the  bird  was  present  and  building  in  the 
withy  bed.  I  thought  that  that  little  delicious  tender 
song  too  was  beyond  the  warbler's  power  ;  but  I  was 
mistaken,  and  by-and-by  I  heard  it  reproduced  so  per- 
fectly that  I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears.  The  wren's 
song  I  did  not  hear  and  concluded  that  the  warbler 
refused  to  copy  it  on  account  of  its  peculiar  distinctive 
sharp  quality  which  some  persons  associate  in  their 
minds  with  an  acid  flavour. 

I  think  the  imitation  which  pleased  and  surprised 
me  most  was  that  of  the  willow  wren's  exquisite  joyous 


THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  MUSIC     211 

yet  tender  melody.  Until  I  heard  it  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  any  feathered  mocker  could  reproduce 
that  falling  strain  so  perfectly. 


One  of  the  greatest  pleasures  in  life — my  life  I  mean 
— is  to  be  present,  in  a  sense  invisible,  in  the  midst  of 
the  domestic  circle  of  beings  of  a  different  order, 
another  world,  than  ours.  Yet  it  is  one  which  may  be 
had  by  any  person  who  desires  it.  Some  of  the  smaller 
birds  lend  themselves  easily  to  this  innocent  prying. 
And  one  is  more  in  sympathy  with  them  than  with  the 
smaller,  more  easily  observed  insects.  The  absolute 
indifference  of  these  to  our  presence  only  accentuates  the 
fact  of  their  unlikeness  to  us  in  their  senses  and  faculties. 
There  is  a  perpetual  fascination  in  some  social  insects, 
ants  especially,  but  it  disquiets  as  well  as  delights  us 
to  mark  their  ways.  They  baffle  our  curiosity,  and  if 
we  be  of  animistic  mind  we  become  when  watching 
them  uncomfortably  conscious  of  a  spirit,  an  entity, 
in  or  behind  nature  that  watches  us  and  our  watching 
with  an  unfathomable  look  in  its  eyes  and  a  challenging 
and  mocking  smile  on  its  lips. 

One  of  our  most  distinguished  biologists,  who  has 
written  books  on  some  lower  forms  of  life  which  are 
classics,  has  never  included  insects  in  his  studies  just 
because  he  has  never  been  able  to  free  himself  from  a 
sense  of  uncanniness  they  give  him.  In  me,  too,  they 
produce  this  feeling  at  times  : — these  myriads  of 
creatures  that  float  like  motes  in  the  sunbeam  ;  minute, 


212         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

gemlike,  winged  bodies  of  strange  shapes  and  gem-like 
minds  to  match,  they  come  upon  us  like  a  living  glitter- 
ing dust  shaken  from  the  tail  of  some  comet  in  our 
summer  skies — a  dust  that  will  settle  down  by-and- 
by  and  vanish  when  the  air  grows  cool  at  the  ap- 
proach of  winter. 

But  little  birds — dear  little  birds  or  darlings  as  we 
may  call  them  without  rebuke — are  vertebrates  and 
relations,  with  knowing,  emotional,  thinking  brains 
like  ours  in  their  heads,  and  with  senses  like  ours,  only 
brighter.  Their  beauty  and  grace,  so  much  beyond  ours, 
and  their  faculty  of  flight  which  enables  them  to 
return  to  us  each  year  from  such  remote  outlandish 
places,  their  winged  swift  souls  in  winged  bodies,  do 
not  make  them  uncanny  but  only  fairy-like.  Thus  we 
love  and  know  them,  and  our  more  highly  developed 
minds  are  capable  of  bridging  the  gulf  which  divides 
us  from  them,  and  divides  bird  from  mammal. 
Small  as  they  are  bodily,  in  some  cases  no  bigger  than 
one  of  a  man's  ten  toes,  we  know  they  are  on  the 
same  tree  of  life  as  ourselves,  grown  from  the  same 
root,  with  the  same  warm  red  blood  in  their  veins, 
and  red  blood  is  thicker  than  water — certainly  it  is 
thicker  than  the  colourless  fluid  which  is  the  life  of 
the  insect. 

To  come  back  to  particulars,  and  the  subject  of  this 
chapter,  there  are  very  great  differences  in  the  temper 
and  behaviour  of  even  the  smallest  birds  of  different 
species  in  the  presence  of  their  human  fellow-beings. 
Some  are  strangely,  unaccountably  shy,  and  so  sus- 


THE  MARSH  WARBLER'S  MUSIC     213 

picious  that  they  will  not  comport  themselves  as  they 
do  immediately  we  are  out  of  sight  and  mind.  What 
a  contrast  in  this  respect  is  there  between  such  species 
as  the  stonechat  and  goldcrest !  One  is  always  watch- 
ing us,  always  anxious,  and  refuses  not  only  to  go  on 
with  his  love-making  or  nest-building  but  even  refuses 
to  sing  if  we  are  there  ;  while  to  the  other  our  presence 
is  no  more  than  that  of  a  rock  or  tree.  I  was  delighted 
to  find  that  the  marsh  warbler  was  more  like  the 
last  than  the  first,  that  he  went  on  with  his  feeding, 
wooing,  nest-building,  his  feud  with  his  rivals,  or  with 
the  neighbouring  cock  who  from  time  to  time  ventured 
to  intrude  on  his  little  dominion,  and  above  all  with  his 
beautiful  singing,  just  as  though  I  had  not  been  there 
at  all.  My  greatest  pleasure  was  to  mark  a  spot  which 
a  pair  of  the  birds  had  selected  as  their  own  and  to  go 
and  settle  myself  down  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
sacred  ground.  There  the  cock  would  quickly  come  to 
me,  evidently  recognizing  in  me  a  living  creature  of 
some  kind — a  big  animal  with  the  faculty  of  loco- 
motion, and  at  first  he  would  appear  to  be  a  little 
anxious  about  the  safety  of  his  nest,  but  after  a  few 
minutes  the  trouble  would  vanish  from  his  little  volatile 
mind  and  he  would  be  all  freedom  and  gladness  and 
melody,  with  transitory  fits  of  rage  and  other  emotions, 
as  before.  On  these  occasions  I  sometimes  had  one 
singing  almost  continuously  for  several  minutes  to  half 
an  hour  within  a  dozen  yards  of  where  I  sat.  At  such 
times  his  strains  sounded  louder  but  no  less  sweet  than 
when  heard  at  a  distance  of  forty  of  fifty  yards.  On 


214        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

one  occasion  I  had  him  even  nearer,  owing  to  a  mishap. 
I  was  walking  along  the  dry  bottom  of  a  wide  old  ditch 
under  a  hedge  at  the  side  of  the  withy  bed,  when  I  came 
to  a  deep  pool  or  hole  full  of  mud  and  slimy  water,  and 
to  save  myself  the  trouble  of  going  round  it  I  took 
hold  of  an  overhanging  willow  branch  and  swung  my- 
self across  to  the  other  side,  but  failed  to  get  quite 
clear  and  was  plunged  deep  into  the  slime.  After 
scraping  off  the  fetid  mud  and  slime  which  covered  me 
I  went  back  to  the  deep  pool  of  clear  water  in  the  withy 
bed  and  taking  off  my  tweed  suit  and  boots  spent  an 
hour  in  washing  them,  then  spread  them  out  in  the 
sun.  The  drying  I  thought  would  take  five  or  six 
hours,  and  as  I  could  not  roam  about  in  my  stockings 
and  underclothing  which  had  not  got  wet  or  return  to 
the  town  and  civilized  life  to  get  a  meal  or  tea, I  thought 
my  best  plan  was  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  lying 
down  close  to  one  of  the  marsh  warbler's  favourite 
singing  bushes.  There  I  made  myself  a  nice  bed  of  dry 
sedges  in  a  sunny  spot  within  two  yards  of  the  singing- 
bush,  and  presently  the  cock  bird  came  and  flew  round 
and  perched  here  and  there  on  the  stems,  scolding  and 
singing.  He  went  and  came  a  good  many  times,  but 
at  last  gave  up  being  troubled  at  my  presence  and 
eventually  began  coming  to  his  own  withy-plant  and  to 
sing  there  fully  and  freely  for  long  intervals  at  that 
short  distance  of  two  yards  from  my  head. 

I  thought  I  had  never  listened  to  sweeter  music  than 
this  bird's,  and  that  my  fall  into  the  mud-hole  had 
proved  an  exceedingly  happy  accident. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA 

THERE  is  much  in  a  name,  and  when  I  left  Yeovil  to 
run  to  Dorchester  by  that  lonely  beautiful  road  which 
takes  you  by  the  clear  swift  Cerne  and  past  the  ancient 
figure  of  a  giant  with  a  club  on  the  down  side  over 
against  Cerne  Abbas,  I  went  a  little  distance  out  of 
my  way  to  look  at  a  small  village  solely  on  account 
of  its  singular  and  pretty  name.  Or  rather  two 
villages — Yetminster  and  Ryme  Intrinsica.  Who 
would  not  go  a  dozen  miles  out  of  his  road  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  places  with  such  names !  At  the  first 
I  was  unlucky,  since  the  only  inhabitant  I  made  ac- 
quaintance with  was  an  unprepossessing  voluble  old 
woman  with  greedy  eyes  who,  though  not  too  poor, 
at  once  set  herself  to  conjure  a  shilling  out  of  my 
pocket.  In  the  end  we  quarrelled  and  I  went  away  re- 
gretting I  had  met  her,  seeing  that  her  unpleasing 
image  would  be  associated  in  my  mind  with  the  picture 
of  Yetminster — its  noble,  ancient  church  standing  in 
its  wide  green  space,  surrounded  by  old  stone-built 
thatched  houses  with  valerian  and  ivy-leaved  toad-flax 
and  wallflower  growing  on  the  crumbling  walls. 

At  Ryme  Intrinsica  I  was  more  fortunate.     It  was 
215 


216        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

a  charming  village  with  stone  cottages,  as  is  usual  in 
that  stone  country,  and  a  pretty  little  church  standing 
in  the  middle  of  a  green  and  flowery  churchyard. 
Here  there  were  several  small  yew  trees,  and  no  sooner 
had  I  got  inside  the  gate  than  out  fluttered  a  goldfinch 
in  brilliant  feather,  emitting  his  sharpest  alarm  note. 
Then  from  trees  and  bushes  all  round  where  they  had 
been  concealed,  more  goldfinches  fluttered  forth,  until 
there  were  twelve,  all  loudly  protesting  against  my 
presence  at  that  spot,  flitting  from  tree  to  tree  and 
perching  on  the  terminal  twigs  within  three  or  four 
yards  of  my  head.  Never  had  I  seen  goldfinches  so 
excited,  so  bold  in  mobbing  a  man  :  I  could  only 
suppose  that  very  few  visitors  came  into  that  secluded 
churchyard,  where  they  were  breeding,  and  doubtless 
a  stranger  in  the  place  was  a  much  more  alarming  figure 
to  them  than  the  parson  or  any  of  the  native  villagers 
would  have  been.  But  it  was  a  new  and  delightful 
experience  to  find  so  many  pairs  breeding  together, 
making  their  nests  within  reach  of  a  man's  hand. 

Now  as  I  stood  there  watching  the  birds  I  by  chance 
noticed  that  a  man  and  his  wife  and  little  girl  standing 
at  their  cottage  door  hard  by  were  intently  and  sus- 
piciously watching  me.  On  coming  out  I  went  over 
to  them  and  asked  the  man  how  long  they  had  had 
goldfinches  breeding  so  abundantly  in  their  church- 
yard. A  very  few  years  ago  I  had  been  told  that  the 
goldfinch  had  almost  ceased  to  exist  in  Dorset.  He 
replied  that  it  was  true,  that  goldfinches  had  begun 
to  increase  only  during  the  last  three  Q,r  four  years 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    217 

since  they  had  been  protected  by  law  all  the  year 
round. 

He  could  not  have  given  me  more  agreeable  news. 
I  remembered  with  a  keen  sense  of  satisfaction  that 
the  late  Mr.  Mansel  Pleydell-Bouverie,  of  Whatcombe 
in  Dorset,  had  written  to  me  asking  my  advice  in  draw- 
ing up  a  new  bird-protection  order  for  the  county, 
and  that  in  replying  I  had  strongly  urged  him  to  secure 
the  fullest  protection  the  law  can  afford  to  this  most 
charming  and  most  persecuted  of  all  small  birds. 

Two  or  three  years  before  that  date  I  spent  several 
weeks  in  Somerset,  walking  a  good  deal,  without  once 
seeing  or  hearing  a  goldfinch,  yet  if  I  had  come  within 
fifty  yards  of  a  copse  or  orchard  inhabited  by  a  pair, 
their  sharp,  unmistakable  whit-whit  would  have  ad- 
vertised their  presence.  At  Wells  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  man  past  middle  age  who  had  taken 
to  bird-catching  as  a  boy  and  still  followed  that  fascinat- 
ing vocation.  "  Have  you  never  had  goldfinches  in 
these  parts  ?  "  I  asked  him  ;  to  which  he  replied  that 
he  remembered  the  time  when  they  were  abundant, 
but  for  the  last  thirty  years  or  longer  they  had  been 
steadily  decreasing  and  were  now  practically  gone. 
They  had  gone  because  they  were  too  much  sought 
after  ;  then  he  added  :  "  I  daresay  they  would  come 
again  if  there  was  a  law  made  to  stop  us  from  catching 
them."  I  expressed  the  hope  that  such  a  law  would 
come  in  time,  at  which  he  shook  his  head  and  grunted. 
Now  Somerset  has  such  a  law  and  I  hear  that  gold- 
finches are  again  to  be  seen  in  the  Wells  district.  In 


2i 8        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

fact,  county  after  county  has  taken  up  the  cause  of 
this  pretty  and  useful  little  bird,  and  in  a  small  map  of 
the  country  lying  before  me,  in  which  the  counties 
where  the  goldfinch  receives  protection  throughout 
the  year  are  coloured  red,  I  find  that  on  more  than 
three-fourths  of  the  entire  area  of  England  and  Wales 
the  bird  is  now  safeguarded.  As  a  result  it  is  increasing 
all  over  the  country,  but  it  will  be  many  years  before 
we  have  it  in  its  former  numbers.  How  abundant  it 
was  about  eighty  years  ago,  before  its  long  decline 
began,  may  be  gathered  from  the  following  passage 
in  Cobbett's  Rural  Rides  describing  his  journey  from 
Highworth  to  Malmesbury  in  Wiltshire. 

"  Between  Somerford  and  Ocksey,  I  saw,  on  the  side 
of  the  road,  more  goldfinches  than  I  had  ever  seen 
together  ;  I  think  fifty  times  as  many  as  I  had  ever  seen 
at  one  time  in  my  life.  The  favourite  food  of  the 
goldfinch  is  the  seed  of  the  thistle.  The  seed  is  just 
now  dead  ripe.  The  thistles  all  cut  and  carried  away 
from  the  fields  by  the  harvest ;  but  they  grow  along- 
side the  roads,  and  in  this  place  in  great  quantities. 
So  that  the  goldfinches  were  got  here  in  flocks,  and,  as 
they  continued  to  fly  before  me  for  nearly  half  a  mile 
and  still  sticking  to  the  roads  and  brakes  I  do  believe 
I  had,  at  last,  a  flock  of  10,000  flying  before  me." 

Cobbett  rightly  says  that  the  seed  of  the  thistle  is 
the  favourite  food  of  the  bird  ;  and  once  upon  a  time 
an  ornithologist  made  the  statement  that  the  improved 
methods  of  agriculture  in  England  had  killed  the 
thistle,  thus  depriving  the  goldfinch  of  its  natural  food, 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA     219 

the  result  being  that  the  bird  had  declined  in  numbers 
to  the  verge  of  extinction.  The  statement  has  been 
copied  into  pretty  well  every  book  on  British  birds 
since  it  was  made.  O  wise  ornithologists,  what  does 
the  goldfinch  live  on  during  nine  months  of  the  year  ? 
How  does  he  exist  without  his  natural  food  ?  How 
does  he  live  even  in  the  unnatural  conditions  of  a  cage 
without  thistle-seed  ?  I  know  of  one  case  in  which 
the  poor  prisoner  lived  shut  up  in  his  little  wire  box 
for  eighteen  years.  Besides,  the  museum  or  closet 
naturalist  is  very  much  out  of  it  when  he  talks  about 
the  extirpation  of  the  thistle.  The  good  old  plant  is 
doing  very  well.  Long  before  the  Act  of  1894-5 
which  empowers  the  local  authorities  to  protect  their 
birds,  I  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  to,  and  a  haunter 
of,  many  extensive  thistle-grown  places  in  southern 
England — chalk  downs  that  were  once  wheatfields, 
gone  out  of  cultivation  for  half  a  century  or  longer, 
ruined  sheep-walks,  where  in  July  and  August  I  could 
look  over  hundreds  of  acres  of  rust-brown  thistles, 
covered  with  their  glistening  down,  the  seed  "  dead 
ripe,"  and  never  a  goldfinch  in  sight ! 

And  now  I  must  go  back  to  Ryme  Intrinsica — the 
pretty  name  of  that  village  makes  me  reluctant  to  leave 
it — and  to  its  goldfinches,  the  little  company  of  twelve 
fluttering  with  anxious  cries  about  my  head,  a  very 
charming  spectacle,and  to  an  even  more  brilliant  picture 
or  vision  of  the  past  which  was  all  at  once  restored 
to  my  mental  eye.  We  are  familiar  with  the  powerful 
emotional  effect  of  certain  odours,  associated  with 


220        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

our  early  life,  in  this  connection  ;  occasionally  effects 
equally  strong  are  produced  by  sights  and  sounds,  and 
this  was  one.  As  I  stood  in  the  churchyard  watching 
the  small  flutterers  in  their  black  and  gold  and  crimson 
liveries,  listening  to  their  excited  cries,  a  vision  of  my 
boyhood  was  brought  before  me,  so  vivid  as  to  seem 
like  reality.  After  many  years  I  was  a  boy  once  more, 
in  my  own  distant  home,  and  the  time  was  October, 
when  the  brilliant  spring  merges  into  hot  summer. 
I  was  among  the  wind-rustled  tall  Lombardy  poplars, 
inhaling  their  delicious  smell,  at  that  spot  where  a 
colony  of  a  couple  of  dozen  black-headed  siskins  were 
breeding.  They  are  without  the  crimson  on  their 
faces ;  their  plumage  is  black  and  gold,  but  to  all 
English-speaking  people  in  that  far  country  they  are 
known  as  goldfinches,  and  in  flight  and  habits  and  love 
of  thistle-seed  and  in  melodyand  in  their  anxious  piping 
notes  they  are  like  our  English  bird.  They  are  now 
fluttering  about  me,  like  these  of  Ryme  Intrinsica, 
displaying  their  golden  feathers  in  the  brilliant  sun- 
shine, uttering  their  agitated  cries,  while  I  climb  tree 
after  tree  to  find  two  or  three  or  four  nests  in  each — 
dainty  little  mossy  down-lined  cups  placed  between  the 
slender  branches  and  trunk,  each  with  its  complement 
of  shining  pearly  eggs — a  beautiful  sight  to  a  boy ! 

Then  another  picture  follows.  We  are  now  in  the 
burning  days  of  November  and  December,  the  vast 
open  treeless  plains  as  far  as  one  can  see  parched  to  a 
rust-brown,  and  cattle  and  horses  and  sheep  in  thou- 
sands to  be  watered  at  the  great  well.  I  see  the  native 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    221 

boy  on  his  big  horse  drawing  up  the  canvas  bucket ; 
the  man  by  the  well  catching  the  hoop  as  it  comes  to 
the  surface  and  directing  the  stream  of  clear  cold  water 
into  the  long  wooden  troughs.  But  the  thing  to  see 
is  the  crowd  of  beasts,  the  flocks  and  herds  gathering 
before  noon  at  the  accustomed  spot,  first  seen  coming 
in  troops  and  lines,  walking,  trotting,  galloping  from 
all  that  shadeless  illimitable  expanse  where  the  last 
liquid  mud  in  the  dried  pools  has  been  sucked  up. 
What  a  violent  crowd  !  What  a  struggling  and  what 
an  uproar  of  bellowings,  whinnyings  and  multitudinous 
bleatings!  And  what  dreadful  blows  of  horns  and 
hoofs  rained  on  each  other's  tough  hides  !  For  they 
are  all  mad  at  the  sight  and  smell  of  water,  and  only 
a  few  at  a  time  have  room  to  drink  at  the  trough. 

But  the  crowding  and  fighting  and  drinking  are  now 
ended  ;  even  the  sheep,  the  last  to  get  to  the  water, 
have  had  their  fill  and  streamed  away  over  the  plain 
once  more,  and  the  spilt  water  lying  in  pools  at  the 
side  of  the  long  wooden  troughs  is  visited  by  crowds 
on  crowds  of  little  birds — small  crested  song-sparrows, 
glossy  purple  cow-birds,  with  other-coloured  troupials, 
the  "  starlings  "  of  the  New  World  ;  and  tyrant-birds 
of  diver  colours — olive-green,  yellow,  chestnut,  black 
and  white  and  grey  and  many  more ;  doves,  too,  and 
finches  in  great  variety.  The  best  of  these  were  the 
goldfinches,  in  close  little  flocks  and  in  families,  the 
young  birds  clamouring  for  food  and  drink  with 
incessant  shrill  tremulous  reedy  cries. 

What  a  contrast  between  this  dainty  bright-coloured 


222        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

crowd  of  feathered  drinkers  and  that  of  the  pushing 
fighting  bellowing  beasts !  And  what  a  sight  for  a 
boy's  eyes !  There  I  would  stay  in  the  hot  sun  to 
watch  them  when  all  the  others,  the  work  of  watering 
over,  would  hurry  away  to  the  shade  of  the  house 
and  trees,  and  my  desire  to  see  them  more  closely,  to 
look  at  them  as  one  can  look  at  a  flower,  was  so  in- 
sistent and  so  intense  as  to  be  almost  a  pain.  But  I 
had  no  binocular  and  didn't  even  know  that  such  an 
instrument  existed  ;  and  at  last  to  satisfy  the  craving 
I  took  it  into  my  head  to  catch  them — to  fill  my 
hands  with  goldfinches  and  have  them  in  numbers.  It 
was  easily  done.  I  put  an  old  deal  box  or  packing-case 
over  a  pool  of  water,  one  side  propped  up  with  a  stick, 
to  which  a  long  string  was  attached.  With  the  end 
of  the  string  in  my  hand  I  sat  and  waited,  while  birds 
of  many  kinds  came  and  took  their  half-dozen  sips  and 
flew  away,  but  when  a  flock  of  goldfinches  appeared 
and  gathered  to  drink  under  the  box,  I  pulled  the  string 
and  made  them  prisoners.  Then  I  transferred  them 
to  a  big  cage,  and,  placing  it  on  a  stand  under  the  trees, 
sat  down  to  feast  my  eyes  on  the  sight — to  look  at  a 
goldfinch  as  I  would  look  at  a  flower.  And  I  had  my 
reward  and  was  supremely  happy,  but  it  was  a  short- 
lived happiness,  for  very  soon  the  terror  and  distress 
of  my  little  captives,  and  their  senseless  frantic  efforts 
to  get  out  of  their  prison,  began  to  annoy  and  make 
me  miserable.  I  say  "senseless"  because  I  had  no 
intention  of  keeping  them  in  captivity,  and  to  my 
small  boy  brain  it  seemed  that  they  might  have  re- 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    223 

strained  themselves  a  little  and  allowed  me  to  enjoy 
seeing  them  for  an  hour  or  two.  But  as  their  flutter- 
ings  and  strainings  and  distressing  cries  continued 
I  opened  the  cage  and  allowed  them  to  fly  away. 

Looking  back  on  that  incident  now,  it  strikes  me  as 
rather  an  inhuman  thing  to  have  done ;  but  to  the 
boy,  whose  imagination  has  not  yet  dawned,  who  does 
not  know  what  he  is  doing,  much  has  to  be  forgiven. 
He  has  a  monkey-like,  prying  curiosity  about  things, 
especially  about  living  things,  but  little  love  for  them. 
A  bird  in  a  cage  is  more  to  him  as  a  rule  than  many 
birds  in  a  bush,  and  some  grow  up  without  ever  getting 
beyond  this  lower  stage.  Love  or  fondness  of  or 
kindness  to  animals,  with  other  expressions  of  the  kind, 
are  too  common  in  our  mouths,  especially  in  the 
mouths  of  those  who  keep  larks,  linnets,  siskins,  and 
goldfinches  in  cages.  But  what  a  strange  "  love  "  and 
"  kindness  "  which  deprive  its  object  of  liberty  and 
its  wonderful  faculty  of  flight !  It  is  very  like  that  of 
the  London  east-end  fancier  who  sears  the  eye-balls 
of  his  chaffinch  with  a  red-hot  needle  to  cherish  it 
ever  after  and  grieve  bitterly  when  its  little  darkened 
life  is  finished.  "  You'll  think  me  a  soft-hearted 
chap,  but  'pon  my  soul  when  I  got  up  and  went  to 
say  good-morning  to  my  bird,  and  give  him  a  bit  of 
something  to  peck  at,  and  found  poor  Chaffie  lying 
there  dead  and  cold  at  the  bottom  of  his  cage,  it  made 
the  tears  come  into  my  eyes." 

It  is  love  of  a  kind,  no  doubt. 

The  east-ender  is  "  devoted  "  to  his  chaffinch,  but 


224        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

for  the  generality  the  first  favourite  is  undoubtedly 
the  goldfinch,  and  if  few  are  seen  in  cages  compared 
with  larks  and  linnets  it  is  because  they  are  much  rarer 
and  cost  more.  Our  "  devotion  "  to  it,  as  we  have 
seen,  nearly  caused  its  extermination  in  Britain,  and 
we  now  import  large  numbers  from  Spain  to  supply 
the  demand.  One  doubts  that  the  bird  will  stand 
this  drain  very  long,  as  the  Spanish  are  just  as  fond  of 
it  (in  a  cage)  as  we  are. 

Here  I  am  reminded  of  a  very  charming  little  poem 
about  a  caged  goldfinch  by  one  of  my  favourite  authors 
— El  Colorin  de  Filis,  by  Melendez,  an  eighteenth- 
century  poet.  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  who  reads 
this  poem  and  others  of  equal  merit  to  be  found  in  the 
literature  of  Spain,  would  deny  that  the  sentiment  of 
admiration  and  tenderness  for  birds  is  sometimes 
better  and  more  beautifully  expressed  in  Spanish  poetry 
than  in  ours.  Not  only  in  the  old,  which  is  best,  but 
occasionally  in  reading  modern  verse  I  have  been  sur- 
prised into  the  exclamation,  Would  that  we  could 
have  this  poem,  or  this  passage,  suitably  translated  ! 
This  may  seem  strange,  since  we  cannot  allow  that  the 
Spanish  generally,  wedded  as  they  are  to  their  ancient 
barbarous  pastimes,  and  killers  of  all  small  birds  for  the 
pot  as  they  are  now  becoming  in  imitation  of  their 
French  neighbours,  can  surpass  or  even  equal  us  in 
sympathy  for  the  inferior  creatures.  It  is  the  lan- 
guage which  makes  the  difference  :  the  Spanish  is 
better  suited  to  the  expression  of  tender  sentiments 
of  that  kind.  The  verse  flows  more  freely,  with  a 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    225 

more  natural  music  than  ours ;  it  is  less  mechanical 
and  monotonous  in  sound,  and  as  it  is  less  distinct  from 
prose  and  speech  in  form  we  are  never  so  conscious 
of  the  artistry.  The  feeling  appears  more  genuine, 
more  from  the  heart,  because  of  the  seeming  artless- 
ness.  We  see  it  all  in  this  little  goldfinch  poem  and 
say  at  once  that  it  is  untranslatable,  or  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  render  its  spirit,  because  in  English 
verse  the  tender  feeling,  even  if  it  could  be  expressed 
so  delicately  and  beautifully,  would  not  convey  the 
same  air  of  sincerity.  Swinburne  could  not  do  it, 
which  may  seem  a  bold  thing  to  say,  seeing  that  he  has 
given  a  music  to  our  language  it  never  knew  before. 
It  is  a  music  which  in  certain  supreme  passages  makes 
one  wonder,  as  if  it  did  not  consist  in  the  mere  cunning 
collocation  of  words  but  in  a  magic  power  to  alter  their 
very  sound,  producing  something  of  a  strange,  exotic 
effect,  incomparably  beautiful  and  altogether  new  in 
our  poetry.  But  great  as  it  is  it  never  allows  us  to 
escape  from  the  sense  of  the  art  in  it,  and  is  unlike  the 
natural  music  of  Melendez  as  the  finest  operatic  singing 
is  unlike  the  spontaneous  speech,  intermingled  with 
rippling  laughter,  of  a  young  girl  with  a  beautiful 
fresh  sparkling  voice. 

From  Swinburne  to  Adelaide  Anne  Proctor  is  a  long 
drop,  but  in  this  lady's  works  there  is  a  little  poem 
entitled  "  The  Child  and  the  Bird,"  which,  if  not  pre- 
cisely a  translation,  strikes  me  as  a  very  close  imitation 
of  the  "  Phyllis,  and  her  Goldfinch  "  of  Melendez, 
or  of  some  other  Continental  poet,  probably  Spanish, 
15 


226        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

who  has  treated  the  same  subject.  At  all  events,  the 
incident  related  is  the  same,  except  that  a  little  girl 
has  been  substituted  for  the  girl  wife  of  the  original. 
Here  is  the  first  stanza  : 

Wherefore  pinest  them,  my  bird  ? 
Thy  sweet  song  is  never  heard. 
All  the  bird's  best  joys  surround  thee, 
Ever  since  the  day  I  found  thee. 
Once  thy  voice  was  free  and  glad, 
Tell  me  why  thou  art  so  sad  ? 
If  this  coarse  thread  cause  thee  pain, 
Thou  shalt  have  a  silken  chain. 

What  poor,  artificial  stuff  it  is !  How  it  bumps  you, 
each  line  ending  with  the  dull,  hard,  wooden  thud  of 
the  rhyme !  Doubtless  if  a  better  poet  had  written 
it  the  result  would  not  have  been  so  bad ;  my  sole 
reason  for  quoting  it  is  that  I  can  find  no  other  transla- 
tion or  version  in  our  literature.  We  abound  in  bird 
poems,  some  of  them  among  the  most  beautiful  lyrics 
in  the  language ;  but  I  confess  that,  for  the  reasons 
already  given,  even  the  best,  such  as  those  of  Words- 
worth, Hogg,  Shelley,  Meredith,  and  Swinburne  him- 
self, particularly  in  his  splendid  ode  to  the  sea-mew, 
fail  to  give  me  entire  satisfaction. 

I  am  bad  at  translating,  or  paraphrasing,  anything, 
and  the  subject  of  the  Spanish  poem  is  one  peculiarly 
suited  to  verse;  if  taken  out  of  that  sublimated 
emotional  language,  I  fear  it  must  seem  flat,  if  not 
ridiculous.  Nevertheless,  I  will  venture  to  give  here 
a  simple  prose  translation  of  the  anecdote,  and  will 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    227 

ask  the  reader  to  retranslate  it  in  imagination  into  swift- 
flowing  verse,  in  a  language  perhaps  unknown  to  him 
which  reproduces  to  the  eye  and  ear  of  the  mind  the 
sights  and  sounds  described — the  disordered  motions, 
the  flutterings  and  piercing  cries  of  the  agitated  bird, 
and  the  responsive  emotions  of  its  tender-hearted  mis- 
tress, which  come,  too,  in  gusts,  like  those  of  her 
captive,  and  have,  too,  their  own  natural  rhythm. 

The  poem  tells  that  one  day  Phyllis  finds  her  pet 
goldfinch  in  a  strangely  excited  state,  in  revolt  against 
its  destiny,  at  war  with  the  wires  of  its  cage. 

Phyllis  of  the  tender  heart,  the  simple  tastes,  the 
lover  of  little  birds  from  a  child,  who,  though  now  a 
wife,  finds  in  them  still  her  dearest,  most  intimate 
happiness. 

What  ails  her  bird  ?  He  strikes  his  little  beak  on 
the  wires,  then  strikes  again ;  he  clings  to  the  side  of 
his  cage ;  he  flits,  above,  below,  to  this  side  and  to 
that,  then  grasping  a  wire  with  his  small  mandibles, 
tugs  and  tugs  as  if  he  hoped  by  putting  forth  all  his 
little  strength  to  break  it.  He  cannot  break  nor  bend 
it,  nor  can  he  rest,  but  tired  of  tugging  he  thrusts  his 
head  through  the  close  bars  and  strives  and  strains 
to  force  his  way  out,  beating  on  them  with  his  wings. 
Then,  after  a  brief  pause,  renews  and  redoubles  his 
puny  efforts ;  and  at  last,  taken  out  of  himself,  dashes 
from  side  to  side,  until  the  suspended  cage  is  shaken 
with  his  passion. 

Ah,   my  birdling,   cries   lovely  Phyllis,   astonished 


228        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

and  grieved  at  the  spectacle,  what  a  poor  return  you 
are  making  me  !  How  badly  this  temper  fits  you  ! — 
how  unlike  your  gentle  twittering  this  new  sharpness 
in  your  voice  which  wounds  me  !  But  I  know  the 
cause  too  well !  Fear  not,  dear  bird,  to  alienate  my 
love — that  I  shall  forget  in  this  your  rebellious  moment 
the  charm  that  made  you  precious,  and  charge  you 
with  ingratitude  and  in  anger  and  disdain  thrust  you 
from  my  sight.  For  what  avails  my  solicitude  and 
affection — what  does  it  matter  that  with  my  own  hands 
I  supply  you  with  food  and  drink  and  a  hundred 
delicate  morsels  besides ;  that  with  my  fingers  I 
tenderly  caress  you  ;  that  I  kiss  you  with  my  lips  ? 
It  is  nothing  that  you  are  dear  to  me,  that  my  chief 
delight  is  in  listening  to  your  sweet  lively  trills  and 
twitterings,  since  I  am  but  your  gaoler  who  holds  you 
from  that  free  air  which  is  your  home  and  the  sweet 
mate  you  would  be  with  !  No,  you  cannot  be  glad  ; 
nor  is  it  possible  you  should  not  fear  the  hand  that 
ministers  to  your  wants,  since  it  is  the  same  hand 
that  has  cruelly  hurt  you  and  may  hurt  you  again 
with  a  yet  closer,  more  barbarous  confinement. 

Alas,  I  know  your  pain,  for  I  too  am  a  captive  and 
lament  my  destiny,  and  though  the  bonds  that  hold  me 
are  woven  with  flowers  I  feel  their  weight  and  they 
wound  me  none  the  less.  Left  an  orphan  early  in 
life,  it  was  my  fate  to  leave  my  home  before  complet- 
ing my  seventeenth  year,  at  the  will  of  others,  to  be  a 
wife.  He  who  took  me  was  amiable  and  more  than 
kind  to  me.  Like  a  brother,  a  friend,  a  passionate 


GOLDFINCHES  AT  RYME  INTRINSICA    229 

lover,  he  protects,  he  honours,  he  worships  me,  and  in 
his  house  my  will  is  law.  But  I  have  no  pleasure  in  it. 
His  devotion,  his  gifts,  are  like  mine  to  you,  when  I 
am  carried  away  by  the  charm  of  your  beauty  and 
melody,  when  I  call  you  my  sweet  little  one,  and  you 
come  to  my  call  to  bite  me  caressingly  with  your  little 
beak  and  flutter  your  black  and  yellow  wings  as  if  to 
embrace  me  ;  when  in  my  ardour  I  take  you  tenderly 
in  my  hands  to  hold  you  to  my  heaving  breast  and  wish 
and  wish  that  in  kissing  you  I  could  breathe  into  you 
my  very  life ! 

Even  so  does  my  owner  with  me  :  when  in  the  de- 
lirium of  passion  he  strains  me  to  him,  when  he  showers 
gold  and  gems  and  all  beautiful  gifts  on  me,  and  seeks 
after  every  imaginable  pleasure  for  my  delight,  and 
would  give  his  very  life  for  me — his  mistress,  bride 
and  queen,  who  is  more  than  all  the  world  to  him. 
In  vain — in  vain !  Here  in  my  heart  there  is  a  voice 
which  asks  me  :  Does  it  delight  you  ?  Does  it 
sweeten  your  captivity  ?  Oh,  no,  no,  his  benefits 
do  but  increase  this  secret  eternal  bitterness ! 

Even  so  do  you,  oh,  my  little  bird,  reward  me  for 
all  my  love  and  tenderness  and  blame  me  with  those 
painfully  sharp  notes  for  this  tasteless  life  to  which 
you  are  doomed ;  even  so  do  you  cry  for  your  lost 
liberty,  and  open  and  flutter  your  wings  with  the  desire 
to  fly. 

You  shall  not  open  them  in  vain — your  pleadings 
have  pierced  my  heart.  You  shall  go,  my  beloved 
bird — you  shall  go  in  peace.  My  love  can  no  longer 


230        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

deny  you  the  boon  desired  so  ardently — so  easily  be- 
stowed !  Go,  and  know  the  happiness  which  freedom 
gives,  which  is  now  yours,  but  can  nevermore,  alas !  be 
mine. 

So  saying,  Phyllis  opens  the  cage  and  sets  it  free. 
Away  it  flies ;  tears  burst  forth  at  the  sight ;  with 
misty  eyes  she  watches  it  winging  its  way  through 
the  air  till  its  little  form  is  lost  in  the  distance  ;  and 
gazing  still,  for  one  sweet  moment  has  the  illusion 
that  she,  too,  has  flown,  following  it,  that  she  too  has 
recovered  her  lost  liberty. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE 

NEVER  is  earth  more  empty  of  life  than  during  the  early 
days  of  March  before  the  first  of  the  migrants  have 
returned  to  us.  The  brighter  sun  serves  only  to  show 
the  nakedness  of  nature  and  make  us  conscious  of  its 
silence.  For  since  the  autumn,  through  all  the  cold, 
hungry  winter  months,  the  destroyer  has  been  busy 
among  the  creatures  that  stayed  behind  when  half  the 
bird  population  forsook  the  land ;  the  survivors  now 
seem  but  a  remnant.  To-day,  with  a  bleak  wind  blow- 
ing from  the  north-east,  the  sun  shining  from  a  hard 
pale  grey  sky,  the  wide  grass  and  ploughed  fields  seem 
emptier  and  more  desolate  than  ever,  and  tired  of  my 
vain  search  for  living  things  I  am  glad  to  get  to  the 
shelter  of  a  small  isolated  copse,  by  a  tiny  stream,  at 
the  lower  end  of  a  long  sloping  field.  It  can  hardly 
be  called  a  copse  since  it  is  composed  of  no  more  than 
about  a  dozen  or  twenty  old  wide-branching  oak 
trees  growing  in  a  thicket  of  thorn,  hazel,  holly,  and 
bramble  bushes.  It  is  the  best  place  on  such  a  day, 
and  finding  a  nice  spot  to  stand  in,  well  sheltered  from 
the  wind,  I  set  myself  to  watch  the  open  space  before 
me.  It  is  shut  in  by  huge  disordered  brambles,  and 
331 


232       ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

might  very  well  tempt  any  living  creature  with  spring 
in  its  blood,  moving  uneasily  among  the  roots,  to  come 
forth  to  sun  itself.  The  ground  is  scantily  clothed 
with  pale  dead  grass  mixed  with  old  fallen  leaves  and 
here  and  there  a  few  tufts  of  dead  ragwort  and  thistle. 
But  in  a  long  hour's  watching  I  see  nothing ; — not  a 
rabbit,  nor  even  a  woodmouse,  or  a  field  or  bank  vole, 
where  at  other  season  I  have  seen  them  come  out,  two 
or  three  at  a  time,  and  scamper  over  the  rustling  leaves 
in  pursuit  of  each  other.  Nor  do  I  hear  anything; 
not  a  bird  nor  an  insect,  and  no  sound  but  the  whish 
and  murmur  of  the  wind  in  the  stiff  holly  leaves  and 
the  naked  grey  and  brown  and  purple  branches.  I 
remember  that  on  my  very  last  visit  this  same  small 
thicket  teemed  with  life,  visible  and  audible;  it  was 
in  its  spring  foliage,  exquisitely  fresh  and  green,  spark- 
ling with  dewdrops  and  bright  with  flowers  about 
the  roots — ground  ivy,  anemone,  primrose,  and  violet. 
I  listened  to  the  birds  until  the  nightingale  burst  into 
song  and  I  could  thereafter  attend  to  no  other.  For 
he  was  newly  arrived,  and  although  we  have  him  with 
us  every  year,  invariably  on  the  first  occasion  of  hearing 
him  in  spring,  the  strain  affects  us  as  something  wholly 
new  in  our  experience,  a  fresh  revelation  of  nature's 
infinite  richness  and  beauty. 

I  know  that  in  a  few  weeks'  time  he  will  be  back  at 
the  same  spot;  in  this  case  we  do  not  say  "barring 
accidents " ;  they  are  not  impossible,  but  are  too  rare 
to  be  taken  into  consideration.  Yet  it  is  a  strange 
thing !  He  ceased  singing  about  June  20,  nearly 


THE   IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE      233 

nine  months  ago ;  he  vanished  about  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember ;  yet  we  may  confidently  look  and  listen  for 
him  in  about  six  weeks  from  to-day !  When  he  left 
us,  so  far  as  we  know,  he  travelled,  by  day  or  night, 
but  in  any  case  unseen  by  even  the  sharpest  human 
eyes,  south  to  the  Channel  and  France ;  then  on 
through  the  whole  length  of  that  dangerous  country 
where  men  are  killers  and  eaters  of  little  birds ; 
then  across  Spain  to  another  sea ;  then  across 
Algeria  and  Tripoli  to  the  Sahara  and  Egypt,  and, 
whether  by  the  Nile  or  along  the  shores  of  the 
Red  Sea,  on  to  more  southern  countries  still.  He 
travels  his  four  thousand  miles  or  more,  not  by  a 
direct  route,  but  now  west  and  now  south,  with 
many  changes  of  direction  until  he  finds  his  winter 
home.  We  cannot  say  just  where  our  bird  is ; 
for  it  is  probable  that  in  that  distant  region  where 
his  six  months'  absence  is  spent  the  area  occupied 
by  the  nightingales  of  British  race  may  be  larger 
than  this  island.  The  nightingale  that  was  singing 
in  this  thicket  eleven  months  ago  may  now  be  in 
Abyssinia,  or  in  British  East  Africa,  or  in  the  Congo 
State. 

And  even  now  at  that  distance  from  his  true  home — 
this  very  clump  where  the  sap  is  beginning  to  move 
in  the  grey  naked  oaks  and  brambles  and  thorns — some- 
thing stirs  in  him  too  :  not  memory  nor  passion  per- 
haps, yet  there  may  be  something  of  both  in  it — an 
inherited  memory  and  the  unrest  and  passion  of  mi- 
gration, the  imperishable  and  overmastering  ache  and 


234        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

desire  which  will  in  due  time  bring  him  safely  back 
through  innumerable  dangers  over  that  immense  dis- 
tance of  barren  deserts  and  of  forests,  of  mountain 
and  seas,  and  savage  and  civilised  lands. 

It  is  not  strange  to  find  that  down  to  the  age  of 
science,  when  the  human  mind  had  grown  accustomed 
to  look  for  the  explanation  of  all  phenomena  in  matter 
itself,  an  exception  was  made  of  the  annual  migration 
of  birds,  and  the  belief  remained  (even  in  Sir  Isaac 
Newton's  mind)  that  the  impelling  and  guiding  force 
was  a  supernatural  one.  The  ancients  did  not  know 
what  became  of  their  nightingale  when  he  left  them, 
for  in  Greece,  too,  he  is  a  strict  migrant,  but  his  re- 
appearance year  after  year,  at  the  identical  spot,  was 
itself  a  marvel  and  mystery,  as  it  still  is,  and  they 
came  inevitably  to  think  it  was  the  same  bird  which 
they  listened  to.  We  have  it  in  the  epitaph  of  Calli- 
machus,  in  Cory's  translation  : 

They  told  me,  Heraclitus,  they  told  me  you  were  dead  ; 

They  brought  me  bitter  news  to  hear  and  bitter  tears  to  shed  ; 

I  wept  when  I  remembered  how  often  you  and  I 

Had  tired  the  sun  with  talking  and  sent  him  down  the  sky. 

And  now  that  you  are  lying,  my  dear  old  Carian  guest, 

A  handful  of  grey  ashes,  long,  long  ago  at  rest, 

Still  are  thy  pleasant  voices,  thy  nightingales,  awake, 

For  death  he  taketh  all  away,  but  these  he  cannot  take. 

It  is  possible  to  read  the  thought  in  the  original 
differently,  that  immortality  is  given  to  the  song,  not 
the  bird.  As  one  of  my  friends  who  have  made  literal 
translations  for  me  has  it :  "  Yet  thy  nightingale's  notes 
live,  whereon  Hades,  ravisher  of  all  things,  shall  not 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE       235 

lay  a  hand,"  or  "  But  thy  nightingales  (or  nightingales' 
songs)  live  ;  over  these  Hades,  the  all-destroyer,  throws 
not  a  hand." 

Keats,  too,  plays  with  the  thought  in  his  famous  ode  : 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  Bird! 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night  was  heard 

In  ancient  days  by  emperor  and  clown  : 
Perhaps  the  self-same  song  that  found  a  path 

Through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth,  when  sick  for  home 

She  stood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn ; 
The  same  that  oft-times  hath 

Charmed  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn. 

His  imagination  carries  him  too  far,  since  the  "self- 
same song  "  or  the  song  by  the  same  bird,  could  never 
be  heard  in  more  than  one  spot — at  Hampstead,  let 
us  say;  for  though  he  may  travel  far  and  spend  six 
months  of  every  year  in  Abyssinia  or  some  other  re- 
mote region,  he  sings  at  home  only.  Of  all  the  British 
poets  who  have  attempted  it,  George  Meredith  is 
greatest  in  describing  the  song  which  has  so  strong  an 
effect  on  us ;  but  how  much  greater  is  Keats  who 
makes  no  such  attempt,  but  in  impassioned  stanza 
after  stanza  of  the  supremest  beauty,  renders  its  effect 
on  the  soul.  And  so  with  prose  descriptions  ;  we  turn 
wearily  from  all  such  vain  efforts  to  find  an  ever-fresh 
pleasure  in  the  familiar  passage  in  Izaak  Walton,  his 
simple  expressions  of  delight  in  the  singer  "  breathing 
such  sweet  loud  music  out  of  her  little  instrumental 


236        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

throat,  that  it  might  make  mankind  to  think  that 
miracles  are  not  ceased." 

The  subject  of  the  nightingale's  superiority  as  a 
singer  does  not,  however,  now  concern  us  so  much 
as  its  distribution  in  England,  and  its  return  each  year 
to  the  same  spot.  To  this  small  isolated  thicket,  let 
us  say,  the  very  bird  known  here  in  past  years,  now 
away  perhaps  in  Abyssinia,  will  be  here  again  about 
April  8 — alone,  for  he  will  not  brook  the  presence  of 
another  of  one  of  his  species  in  his  small  dominion, 
and  the  female  with  which  he  will  mate  will  not  ap- 
pear until  about  a  week  or  ten  days  later. 

How  natural,  then,  for  the  listener  to  its  song  to 
imagine  it  the  same  bird  he  has  heard  at  the  same 
place  in  previous  years !  Even  the  oldest  rustic,  whose 
life  has  been  passed  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  as  a 
small  boy  robbed  the  five  olive-coloured  eggs  every 
season  to  make  a  "  necklace "  of  them  with  other 
coloured  eggs  as  an  ornament  for  the  cottage  parlour  ; 
whose  sons  took  them  in  their  childhood  for  the  same 
purpose,  and  whose  grandchildren  perhaps  rob  them 
now — even  he  will  think  the  bird  he  will  listen  to  by- 
and-by  the  same  nightingale  of  all  these  years.  But 
this  notion  is,  no  doubt,  strongest  in  those  parts  of  the 
country  where  the  bird  is  more  thinly  distributed. 
Here,  on  the  borders  of  Surrey  and  Hampshire,  we 
are  in  the  very  heart  of  the  nightingale  country,  and 
in  these  localities  where  two  birds  are  frequently  heard 
singing  against  each  other  and  are  sometimes  seen 
fighting,  it  might  be  supposed  that  when  the  bird 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE          237 

inhabiting  a  particular  copse  or  thicket  comes  to  an 
end,  another  will  quickly  take  the  vacant  place.  The 
three  counties  of  Hampshire,  Surrey,  and  Kent  abound 
most  in  nightingales ;  they  are  a  little  less  numerous 
in  Sussex  and  Berkshire  ;  but  these  five  counties  (or 
six  if  we  add  Buckinghamshire)  undoubtedly  contain 
more  nightingales  than  all  the  rest  of  England  together. 
The  bird,  coming  to  us  by  way  of  France,  travels  north, 
each  to  his  ancestral  place,  the  majority  finding  their 
homes  in  the  south  of  England,  on  its  south-eastern 
side  ;  the  others  going  north  and  west  are  distributed 
more  thinly.  On  a  map  coloured  red  to  show  the  dis- 
tribution, the  counties  named  above  would  show  the 
deepest  colour  over  a  greater  part  of  the  entire  area  ; 
while  north  and  west  there  would  be  a  progressive 
decrease  in  the  depth  over  the  south-western  counties, 
the  home  counties  north  of  the  Thames,  the  Mid- 
lands, East  Anglia,  and  north  to  Shropshire  and  South 
Yorkshire,  where  it  would  disappear.  And  on  the 
west  side  of  England  it  would  finish  on  the  Welsh 
border  and  in  East  Devon.  In  all  of  Devonshire  west 
of  the  valley  of  the  Exe,  with  Cornwall ;  in  practically 
all  Wales  and  Scotland  and  Ireland,  there  are  no 
nightingales. 

It  is  a  singular  distribution,  a  puzzling  one  ;  for  why 
is  it  that  the  blackcap,  garden  warbler,  wood-wren, 
and  other  delicate  migrants  who  come  to  us  by  the  same 
route,  extend  their  range  so  much  further  north  and 
west  ?  We  can  only  say  that  the  nightingale's  range 
is  more  restricted,  but  not  by  climatic  conditions,  and 


238        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

that  he  is  more  local ;  in  other  words,  that  we  don't 
know.  Some  have  imagined  that  he  is  a  delicate  feeder 
and  goes  only  where  he  can  find  the  food  that  pleases 
him ;  others,  that  he  inhabits  where  cowslips  grow 
kindly ;  still  others,  that  he  seeks  a  spot  where  there 
in  an  echo.  These  are  but  a  few  of  many  fancies  and 
fables  about  the  nightingale. 

Not  only  is  it  a  singular  distribution,  but  in  a  way 
unfortunate,  since  every  one  would  like  to  hear  the 
nightingale — the  summer  voice  which  has,  over  and 
above  the  pleasing  associations  of  the  swallow  and 
cuckoo  and  turtle-dove,  an  intrinsic  beauty  surpassing 
that  of  all  other  bird  voices.  As  it  is,  a  large  majority 
of  the  population  of  these  islands  never  hear  it.  In 
districts  where  it  is  thinly  distributed,  as  in  Somerset 
and  East  Devon,  there  will  be  perhaps  only  one  nightin- 
gale in  an  entire  parish,  and  the  villages  will  be  proud 
of  it  and  perhaps  boast  that  they  are  better  off  than 
their  neighbours  for  miles  around. 

I  was  staying  late  in  April  at  a  village  near  the 
Severn  when  one  Sunday  morning  the  working  man  I 
was  lodging  with  informed  me  that  he  had  heard  of 
the  arrival  of  their  nightingale  (there  was  but  one), 
and  together  we  set  out  to  find  it.  He  led  me  through 
a  wood  and  over  a  hill,  then  down  to  a  small  thicket 
by  a  running  stream,  about  two  miles  from  home. 
This  was,  he  said,  the  exact  spot  where  he  had  heard 
it  in  previous  years  ;  and  before  we  had  stood  there 
five  minutes,  silently  listening  we  were  rewarded  by 
the  sound  we  had  come  for  issuing  from  a  thorny  tangle 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     239 

not  more  than  a  dozen  yards  away — a  prelusive  sound 
almost  startling  in  its  suddenness  and  power,  as  of 
vigorous,  rapidly  repeated  strokes  on  a  great  golden 
wire. 

And  as  in  this  one,  so  it  is  in  hundreds  of  parishes  all 
over  the  country  where  the  nightingale  is  thinly 
scattered.  Each  home  of  the  bird  is  known  to  every 
man  in  the  parish ;  he  can  find  it  easily  as,  when 
thirsty,  he  can  find  the  spring  of  clear  water  hidden 
away  somewhere  among  the  rocks  and  trees  of  his 
native  place  ;  and  the  song,  too,  is  a  fountain  of  beauti- 
ful sound,  crystal  pure  and  sparkling,  as  it  gushes  from 
the  mysterious  inexhaustible  reservoir,  refreshing  to 
the  soul  and  a  joy  for  ever. 

The  loss  of  one  of  these  nightingales  where  there 
is  but  one,  is  a  sorrow  to  the  villagers,  especially  to  the 
young  lovers,  who  are  great  admirers  of  the  bird  and 
take  a  peculiar  delight  in  listening  to  its  evening  per- 
formance. For  it  does  sometimes  happen  that  the 
nightingale  whose  "  solitary  song  "  is  the  delight  of  a 
village,  disappears  from  his  place  and  returns  no  more. 
The  only  explanation  is  that  the  faithful  bird  has  at 
length  met  with  his  end,  after  a  dozen  or  twenty  years, 
or  as  many  years  as  any  old  man  can  remember.  The 
most  singular  case  of  the  loss  of  a  bird  I  have  come 
across  was  in  East  Anglia,  in  a  place  where  there  were 
very  few  nightingales.  In  my  rambles  I  came  to  a 
little  rustic  village,  remote  from  railroads  and  towns, 
which  has  a  small,  ancient,  curious-looking  church 
standing  by  itself  in  a  green  meadow  half  a  mile  away 


240        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

I  was  told  that  the  rector  kept  the  key  himself,  and  that 
he  was  something  of  a  recluse,  a  studious  learned 
man,  Doctor  of  Divinity,  and  so  on. 

Accordingly  I  went  to  the  rectory,  a  charming  house 
standing  in  its  own  extensive  grounds  with  lawns, 
shrubbery,  large  garden  and  shade  trees,  and  a  wood  or 
grove  of  ancient  oaks  separating  it  from  the  village. 
I  found  the  rector  digging  in  his  garden  and  could 
not  help  seeing  that  he  was  not  too  well  pleased  at 
my  request ;  but  when  I  begged  him  not  to  leave  his 
task  and  promised  to  bring  back  the  key,  if  he  would 
let  me  have  it,  he  threw  down  his  spade  and  said 
that  he  must  accompany  me  to  the  church  himself,  as 
there  were  points  about  it  which  would  require  to  be 
explained. 

There  were  no  monuments,  and  when  we  had  looked 
at  the  interior  and  he  had  pointed  out  the  most  in- 
teresting features,  he  came  out  and  sat  down  in  the 
porch. 

"  Are  you  an  archaeologist  or  what  ?  "  he  said. 

I  replied  that  I  was  nothing  so  important,  that  I 
merely  took  an  ordinary  interest  in  old  churches. 
I  was  mainly  interested  in  living  things — a  sort  of 
naturalist. 

Then  he  got  up  and  we  walked  back.  "  In  birds  ?  " 
he  asked  presently. 

"  Yes,  especially  in  birds." 

"And  what  do  you  think  about  omens — do  you 
believe  in  them  ?  " 

The  question  made  me  curious,  and  I  replied  with 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     241 

caution  that  I  would  tell  him  if  he  would  first  tell  me 
the  particular  case  he  had  in  his  mind  just  then. 

He  was  silent ;  then  when  we  had  got  back  to  the 
rectory  he  took  me  round  the  house  to  where  a  large 
French  window  opened  on  the  lawn  and  a  shrubbery 
beyond.  "  This,"  he  said,  "  is  the  drawing-room,  and 
my  wife,  who  was  very  delicate,  used  always  to  sit 
there  behind  the  window  on  account  of  the  aspect. 
We  had  a  nightingale  then ;  we  had  always  had  him 
since  I  came  to  this  parish  many  years  ago.  He  was  a 
most  beautiful  singer,  and  every  morning,  as  long  as  the 
singing  time  lasted,  he  would  perch  on  that  small  tree 
on  the  edge  of  the  lawn,  directly  before  the  window, 
and  sing  for  an  hour  or  two  at  a  stretch.  We  were 
very  proud  of  our  bird  and  thought  him  better  than 
any  nightingale  we  had  ever  heard.  And  he  was  the 
only  one  in  the  neighbourhood ;  you  would  have  had  to 
go  a  mile  to  find  another. 

"  One  morning  about  eleven  o'clock  I  was  writing  in 
my  study  at  the  other  side  of  the  house,  when  my  wife 
came  in  to  me  looking  pale  and  distressed,  and  said  a 
strange  thing  had  happened.  She  was  sitting  at  her 
work  behind  the  closed  window  when  a  little  bird  had 
dashed  violently  against  the  glass ;  then  it  had  flown  a 
little  distance  away  and,  turning,  dashed  back  against 
the  glass  as  at  first ;  and  again  it  flew  off,  only  to  turn 
and  strike  the  glass  even  more  violently  than  before ; 
then  she  saw  it  fall  fluttering  down  and  feared  it  had 
injured  itself  badly.  I  went  quickly  out  to  look, 
and  found  the  bird,  our  nightingale,  lying  gasping  and 
16 


242        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

shivering  on  the  stone  step  beneath  the  window.  I 
picked  it  up  and  held  it  to  the  air  in  my  open  hand ; 
but  in  two  or  three  seconds  it  was  dead. 

"  I  lost  my  wife  shortly  afterwards.  That  was  five 
years  ago,  and  from  that  time  we  have  had  no  nightin- 
gale here." 

It  was  not  strange  that  the  tragedy  of  the  little  bird 
had  made  a  very  deep  impression  on  him  ;  that  the 
death  of  his  wife  coming  shortly  afterwards  had  actually 
caused  him  to  think  there  was  something  out  of  the 
natural  in  it.  But  I  could  not  say  that  I  was  of  his 
opinion,  though  I  could  believe  that  the  acute  distress 
she  had  suffered  at  witnessing  such  a  thing,  and  possibly 
the  effect  of  thinking  too  much  about  it,  had  aggra- 
vated her  malady  and  perhaps  even  hastened  her  end. 

For  the  rest,  the  accident  to  the  nightingale,  which 
deprived  the  rectory  and  the  village  of  its  singer,  is  not 
an  uncommon  one  among  birds ;  our  windows  as  well 
as  our  overhead  wires  are  a  danger  to  them.  I  have 
seen  a  small  bird  on  a  good  many  occasions  dash  itself 
against  a  window-pane ;  and,  in  one  instance,  at  a 
country  house  in  Ireland,  the  bird,  a  chiffchaff,  came 
violently  against  my  bedroom  window  twice  when  I 
stood  in  the  room  watching  it.  The  attraction  was  a 
fly  crawling  up  the  pane  inside.  But  this  explanation 
does  not  fit  the  case  of  the  nightingale  with  other 
cases  I  have  observed ;  he  is  not  like  the  warblers  and 
the  pied  wagtail  (a  frequent  striker  against  window- 
glass)  a  pursuer  of  flies.  No  doubt  birds  are  some- 
times dazzled  and  confused,  or  hypnotised  by  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     243 

glitter  of  the  glass  with  the  sun  on  it,  and  in  this  case 
the  singing-bush  of  the  bird  was  directly  before  the 
window,  at  a  distance  of  twenty-five  to  thirty  feet. 
The  singer,  motionless  on  his  perch,  had  looked  too 
long  on  it,  and  the  effect  was  such  that  even  after  two 
hurting-blows  on  the  glass  his  little  brain  had  not  re- 
covered from  its  twist.  Then  came  its  third  and  fatal 
blow. 

To  return  to  the  subject  of  the  nightingales'  curious 
distribution  in  England.  The  facts  appear  to  show 
that  practically  the  species  is  stationary  with  us ;  that 
it  remains  strictly  within  the  old  limits  and  in  about 
the  same  numbers.  Bird-catchers,  birds'-nesting  boys, 
and  cats  extirpate  them  round  the  towns  ;  but,  taking 
the  whole  country,  we  do  not  observe  any  great  changes 
such  as  we  note  in  some  other  migrants — the  swallow 
and  martin,  for  example,  and  among  warblers,  to  name 
only  one,  the  lesser  whitethroat.  The  conclusion 
would  seem  to  be  that  each  season's  increase  is  just 
sufficient  to  make  good  the  annual  losses  from  all 
natural  causes  and  from  man's  persecution ;  that 
every  bird  returns  to  the  exact  spot  where  it  was 
hatched,  and  that  no  new  colonies  are  formed  or  the 
range  extended. 

The  practical  question  arises  :  Would  it  not  make 
a  difference  if  the  annual  destruction  through  human 
agency  could  be  done  away  with  ?  I  believe  it  would. 
Each  cock  nightingale,  we  find,  takes  possession  of  his 
own  little  domain  on  arrival,  and,  like  his  relation, 
the  robin,  will  not  allow  another  to  share  it  with  him  ; 


244        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

so  that  if  two  or  more  males  of  a  brood,  or  family,  sur- 
vive to  return  to  the  same  spot,  one  presently  makes 
himself  master,  and  tlje  other  or  others,  driven  away, 
settle  where  they  can,  as  near  by  as  possible.  It  is 
probably  harder  for  the  nightingale  to  go  a  mile  away 
from  his  true  home,  the  very  spot  where  he  was  hatched 
and  reared,  than  to  fly  away  thousands  of  miles  to  his 
wintering  place  in  the  autumn.  The  bird  is  exceed- 
ingly reluctant  to  leave  his  home,  but  if  the  annual 
increase  was  greater,  a  third  greater  let  us  say,  more 
and  more  birds  would  be  compelled  to  go  further 
afield.  They  would  go  slowly,  clinging  to  unsuitable 
places  near  their  cradle-home  rather  than  go  far,  but 
the  continual  pressure  would  tell  in  the  end  ;  the  best 
places  within  the  nightingale  country,  the  ten  thousand 
oak  and  hazel  copses  and  thickets  which  are  now 
untenanted,  would  be  gradually  occupied,  and  eventu- 
ally the  limits  would  be  enlarged.  That  they  cannot 
be  extended  artificially  we  know  from  the  experiments 
in  Scotland  of  Sir  John  Sinclair  and  of  others  in  the 
north  of  England,  who  procured  nightingales'  eggs 
and  had  them  placed  in  robins'  nests.  The  young 
were  hatched  and  safely  reared,  and,  as  was  expected, 
disappeared  in  the  autumn,  but  they  never  returned. 
We  can  only  assume  that  the  "  inherited  memory  "  of 
its  true  home,  which  was  not  Scotland  nor  Yorkshire, 
but  where  the  egg  was  laid,  was  in  every  bird's  brain 
from  the  shell,  that  if  it  ever  survived  to  return  from 
its  far  journey  it  came  faithfully  back  to  the  very  spot 
where  the  egg  had  been  taken* 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     245 

That  man's  persecution  tells  seriously  on  the  species 
may  be  seen  from  what  has  happened  on  the  Continent, 
even  in  countries  where  the  hateful  custom  of  eating 
nightingales  with  all  small  birds  is  unknown,  but  where 
it  is  greatly  sought  after  as  a  cage  bird.  Thus,  in 
Southern  Germany  the  nightingales  have  been  de- 
creasing for  very  many  years  and  are  now  generally 
rare  and  have  been  wholly  extirpated  in  many  parts. 
With  us,  too,  the  drain  on  the  species  has  been  too 
heavy ;  it  is,  or  has  been,  a  double  drain — that  of  birds'- 
nesting  boys  and  of  the  bird-catchers. 

With  regard  to  the  first,  there  is  unfortunately  no 
sentiment  of  superstition  concerning  the  nightingale 
as  in  the  case  of  his  cousin,  the  redbreast — "yellow 
autumn's  nightingale,"  as  it  was  beautifully  called 
by  one  of  the  Elizabethan  poets.  How  effective 
such  a  sentiment  can  be  I  have  witnessed  scores  of  times 
when  I  have  found  that  even  the  most  thorough-paced 
nest-takers  among  the  village  children  are  accustomed 
to  spare  the  robin,  because  as  they  say  something 
bad  will  happen  to  them,  or  their  hand  will  wither  up, 
if  they  harry  its  nest.  The  nightingale's  eggs,  like 
those  of  the  throstle  and  shufflewing  and  Peggie  white- 
throat,  are  taken  without  a  qualm ;  they  are,  indeed, 
more  sought  after  than  others  on  account  of  their 
beauty  and  unusual  colouring  and  because  they  are 
less  common. 

I  believe  that  the  increase  of  the  birds  each  summer 
would  be  about  a  third  more  than  it  is  but  for  the  loss 
from  this  cause  alone. 


246        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

The  destruction  caused  by  the  bird-catcher  is  not 
nearly  so  serious  now  as  it  has  been,  even  down  to  the 
sixties  of  the  last  century,  when  a  single  London  bird- 
catcher  would  trap  his  hundred  or  two  hundred  cock 
nightingales  on  the  birds'  arrival.  And  this  drain  had 
gone  on  for  centuries ;  at  all  events  we  find  that  as 
far  back  as  Elizabethan  times  the  nightingale  was 
eagerly  sought  after  as  a  cage  bird.  Willughby,  the 
"  Father  of  British  Ornithology,"  in  his  account  of  the 
bird,  gives  eight  times  as  much  space  to  the  subject 
of  its  treatment  in  a  cage  as  to  its  habits  in  a  state  of 
nature. 

The  cost  to  a  species  of  caging  is  probably  greater 
in  the  case  of  the  nightingale  than  of  any  other  songster. 
It  is  well  known  that  if  the  bird  is  taken  after  it  has 
paired — that  is,  immediately  after  the  appearance  of  the 
females,  a  week  or  ten  days  later  than  the  males — it 
will  quickly  die  of  grief  in  captivity.  Those  taken 
before  the  females  appear  on  the  scene  may  live  on  to 
the  moulting  time,  which  almost  always  proves  fatal. 
Scarcely  one  in  ten  survives  the  first  year  of  captivity. 

We  may  congratulate  ourselves  that  it  is  no  longer 
possible  for  nightingales  to  be  taken  in  numbers  in  this 
country,  thanks  to  the  legislation  of  the  last  fifteen 
years,  chiefly  to  Sir  Herbert  Maxwell's  wise  Act  em- 
powering the  local  authorities  to  give  additional  pro- 
tection to  wild  birds  and  their  eggs  in  counties  and 
boroughs.  It  has  been  a  long  fight  to  save  our  wild 
birds,  and  is  far  from  finished  yet,  seeing  that  the  law 
is  broken  every  day;  that  bird-dealers  and  their 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     247 

supporters  the  bird-fanciers,  and  their  servants  the 
bird-catchers,  who  take  the  chief  risk,  are  in  league  to 
defeat  the  law.  Also  that  very  many  country  magis- 
trates deal  tenderly  with  offenders  so  long  as  they  re- 
spect "game."  A  partridge,  and  probably  a  rabbit, 
is  of  more  consequence  to  the  sportsman  on  the  bench 
than  a  small,  plain  brown  bird,  or  than  many  linnets 
and  goldfinches.  The  law,  we  know,  is  effectual  when 
it  has  a  strong  public  feeling  on  its  side ;  the  feeling 
is  not  yet  universal  and  nowhere  strong  enough,  or  as 
strong  as  bird-lovers  would  wish  it  to  be,  but  it  exists 
and  has  been  growing  during  the  last  half  a  century, 
and  that  feeling,  supported  by  the  improved  laws  which 
it  has  called  into  being,  is  having  its  effect.  This  we 
know  from  the  increase  during  recent  years  in  several 
of  the  greatly  persecuted  species.  The  goldfinch  is 
a  striking  example.  The  excessive  drain  on  this  species, 
one  of  the  favourites  of  the  lover  of  birds  in  cages,  had 
made  it  exceedingly  rare  throughout  the  country 
twenty  years  ago,  and  in  many  counties  it  was,  if  not 
extinct,  on  the  verge  of  extinction.  Then  a  turn  came 
and  a  steady  increase  until  it  had  ceased  to  be  an  un- 
common bird,  and  if  the  increase  continues  at  the  same 
rate  for  another  decade  it  will  again  be  as  common  as 
it  was  fifty  years  ago.  This  change  has  come  about 
as  a  direct  result  of  the  Orders  giving  it  all  the  year 
round  protection,  obtained  by  the  county  and  borough 
councils  throughout  the  country. 

The  nightingale  has  not  so  increased,  nor  has  it  in- 
creased at  all ;   it  is  not  so  hardy  a  species,  and  albeit 


248        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

an  "immortal  bird/'  and  a  "creature  of  ebullient 
heart,"  it  probably  does  not  live  nearly  as  long  as  our 
brilliant  little  finch.  Nor  is  it  so  prolific  ;  moreover  it 
nests  upon  or  near  the  ground  at  the  same  spot  year 
after  year,  so  that  its  breeding-place  is  known  to  every 
human  being  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  on  this  ac- 
count it  is  more  exposed  to  the  depredations  of  the 
nest-robber  than  most  small  birds.  The  increase  of 
such  a  species,  which  must  in  any  case  be  exceedingly 
slow,  can  only  come  about  by  the  fullest  protection 
during  the  breeding  time.  That  is  to  say,  protection 
from  human  destroyers  ;  from  wild  animals  and  other 
destructive  agencies  we  cannot  safeguard  it. 

This  infers  a  considerable  change  in  the  nature  or 
habits  of  the  country  boy,  or  the  growth  of  a  new 
sentiment  with  regard  to  this  species  which  would  be 
as  great  a  protection  to  it  as  the  sentiment  about  our 
tame,  familiar,  universal  robin  has  been  to  that  bird. 
But  it  is  not  a  dream.  I  believe  this  change  is  being 
wrought  now  in  our  "  young  barbarians "  of  the  country 
side ;  that  it  is  being  brought  about  in  many  ways  by 
means  of  various  agencies— by  an  increased  and  increas- 
ing number  of  lovers  of  animals  and  of  nature,  who  in 
towns  and  villages  form  centres  of  personal  influence ; 
by  associations  of  men  and  women,  such  as  the  Bird  Pro- 
tection, the  Selborne,  and  kindred  societies ;  by  nature 
study  in  the  schools  throughout  the  rural  districts, 
and  by  an  abundant  supply  of  cheap  nature  literature 
for  children.  So  cheaply  are  these  books  now  pro- 
duced that  the  very  poorest  children  may  have  them, 


THE  IMMORTAL  NIGHTINGALE     249 

and  though  so  cheap  they  are  exceedingly  good  of  their 
kind — well  written,  well  printed,  well  and  often  very 
beautifully  illustrated.  I  turn  over  a  heap  of  these 
publications  every  year  and  sigh  to  recall  the  time 
when  I  was  a  young  barbarian  myself  and  had  no 
such  books  to  instruct  and  delight  me. 

But  I  have  another  and  better  reason  than  the  fact 
of  the  existence  of  all  these  activities  for  my  belief  that 
a  change  is  taking  place  in  the  country  boy's  mind,  that 
his  interest  and  pleasure  in  the  wild  bird  is  growing, 
and  that  as  it  grows  he  becomes  less  destructive.  A 
good  deal  of  my  time  is  passed  in  the  villages  in  different 
parts  of  the  country ;  I  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
children  and  get  into  the  confidence  of  many  small 
boys  and  find  out  what  they  do  and  think  and  feel  about 
the  birds,  and  it  is  my  experience  that  in  recent  years 
something  new  has  come  into  their  minds — a  sweeter, 
humaner  feeling  about  their  feathered  fellow-creatures, 
I  also  take  into  account  the  spirit  which  is  revealed  in 
the  village  school  children's  essays  written  for  the  Bird 
and  Tree  competitions  established  by  the  Royal 
Society  for  the  Protection  of  Birds.  During  the  last 
four  or  five  years  I  have  had  to  read  many  hundreds 
of  these  essays,  each  dealing  with  one  species  from  the 
child's  own  personal  observation  and  it  has  proved 
a  very  pleasing  task  to  me  because  so  many  of 
the  young  essayists  had  put  their  whole  heart  in 
theirs.  Their  enthusiasm  shines,  even  in  the  weakest 
of  these  compositions,  considered  merely  as  essays, 
and  we  may  imagine  that  the  country  boy  or  girl 


250        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

of  ten  or  twelve  or  thirteen  finds  the  task  assigned 
him  not  a  very  simple  one,  to  be  placed  at  a  table 
with  sheets  of  foolscap  paper  before  him  and  given 
an  hour  in  which  to  compose  an  essay  on  the  bird, 
selected — the  gist  of  his  observations  ;  to  be  reminded 
at  the  same  time  that  he  is  one  of  the  team  o{  nine 
chosen  for  the  work,  that  the  eyes  of  the  village  are 
on  him,  that  he  must  do  his  best  to  win  the  county 
shield  for  the  school.  The  conditions  are  not  too 
favourable ;  nevertheless,  the  children  are  doing  re- 
markably well,  because,  as  I  have  said,  their  heart  is  in 
it,  and  one  is  delighted  to  find  that  this  study  of  a  bird 
has  not  only  quickened  the  child's  interest  in  nature 
but  has  taught  him  to  think  of  the  bird  in  a  new  way, 
with  the  feeling  which  seeks  to  protect.  We  may 
safely  say  that  these  children  will  not  forget  this  new 
lesson  they  are  being  taught,  whatever  else  may  drop 
out  of  their  memories  when  they  leave  school ;  that 
in  coming  time,  when  they  are  fathers  and  mothers 
themselves,  they  will  instil  the  same  feeling  into  their 
own  children. 

This  then  of  all  the  various  efforts  we  have  made  and 
are  making  to  save  the  wild  bird  life  of  our  country  is 
to  my  mind  the  most  promising  for  the  future,  and 
makes  it  possible  to  believe  that  the  bird  of  greatest 
lustre  we  possess,  our  nightingale,  will  not  only  main- 
tain its  own  ground  in  undiminished  numbers,  but  in 
due  time  will  increase  and  extend  its  range. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS 

THE  old  parish  clerk  is  almost  as  obsolete  as  the  village 
church  band  or  orchestra,  but  you  do  come  upon  him 
occasionally  "  still  lingering  here  "  in  remote  districts, 
and  until  a  few  years  ago  there  existed  one  at  Itchen 
Abbas,  a  pretty  little  village  on  the  Itchen,  a  few  miles 
above  Winchester.  Let  me  hasten  to  say,  lest  any- 
one's susceptibilities  should  be  hurt,  that  this  same 
village  in  everything  except  its  parish  clerk,  appeared 
to  be  quite  up  to  date.  At  the  Sunday  morning 
service  he  sat  near  me  where  I  could  see  and  hear  him 
very  well.  His  quaint  appearance  and  manner  first 
attracted  my  attention  :  it  was  out  of  date,  out  of 
keeping,  or,  shall  we  say,  harmony;  yet  the  harmony 
being  what  it  was  in  that  spiritless  mechanical  service 
the  little  discord  came  as  a  rather  pleasing  relief. 

He  was  a  small  thin  old  man  with  black  alert  hawk- 
like eyes,  white  beard  and  a  black  skull-cap  on  his  grey 
head.  His  high-pitched  voice  and  speech  were  those  of  a 
Hampshire  peasant,  and  it  happened  to  be  the  one  clear 
articulate  voice  amidst  the  confused  gabble  of  the 
others,  all  apparently  anxious  to  get  on  and  finish  the 
tedious  business  of  public  worship  as  quickly  as  possible. 


252        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

When  the  Psalms  were  read  I  tried,  as  an  experiment, 
by  beginning  the  instant  the  minister  ceased  and 
rattling  off  the  words  as  fast  as  I  could  to  keep  up  with 
the  others,  but  invariably  I  finished  some  words 
behind.  They  had  practised  the  trick  too  long  for  an 
outsider  accustomed  to  a  different  method.  But  he, 
the  old  parish  clerk,  had  never  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  away  by  the  torrent :  his  father  had  taught 
him  to  go  slowly,  and  slowly  he  would  go  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter,  in  the  old  ancient  way :  in  a  clear  high 
but  quavering  voice,  he  distinctly  enunciated  each 
word,  each  syllable,  in  a  measured  way,  finishing 
solemnly  a  good  many  words  after  the  congregation. 
The  congregation  had,  so  to  speak,  thrown  him  off, 
or  run  away  from  him,  but  he  would  not  give  in  and 
gabble  or  slur  anything ;  he  plodded  religiously  on, 
unregarded  but  doing  his  own  part  of  the  service 
decently  and  in  order,  under  great  difficulties. 

For  me,  a  stranger  and  hater  of  gabblers,  his  presence 
had  made  the  service  endurable  and  I  was  glad  to  make 
his  acquaintance.  It  was  easily  made  on  a  week  day  : 
dressed  in  his  frayed  and  discoloured  old  clothes  that 
hung  like  sacks  about  him  and  rusty  shapeless  hat,  he 
was  the  most  familiar  figure  in  the  village,  in  appearance 
an  animated  scarecrow.  He  was  also  the  busiest  man 
there.  He  kept  fowls  and  grew  fruit  and  vegetables  in 
his  cottage  garden  and  an  allotment  a  little  distance 
away.  Twice  a  week,  on  market  day,  he  loaded  his 
little  cart  with  his  produce  and  went  off  to  sell  it  at 
the  neighbouring  town.  His  spare  time  was  filled  up 


THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS  253 

with  odd  jobs — hedge-trimming,  lawn- mowing, garden- 
ing generally,  repairing  thatched  roofs,  and  forty  things 
besides.  I  never  found  him  sitting  down,  nor  could 
get  him  to  sit  down  for  more  than  five  minutes  at  a 
stretch ;  but  he  would  rest  on  his  spade  sometimes 
and  give  me  scraps  of  his  ancient  history.  Yet  he  was 
a  small  weak-looking  man,  aged  74 !  He  had  been 
parish  clerk  over  forty-five  years,  and  his  father  before 
him  had  held  the  office  for  upwards  of  fifty. 

I  was  reminded  of  his  case  afterwards  on  two  occa- 
sions in  Hampshire  churchyards  by  epitaphs  on  parish 
clerks.  One  was  at  Heckfield,  near  Eversley.  The 
inscription  reads : — 

"  Beneath  this  stone  lies  William  Neave,  who  on 
the  loth  January,  1821,  ended  a  blameless  and  in- 
offensive life  of  79  years  during  45  of  which  he 
was  Clerk  of  the  Parish.  His  father,  Thomas  Neave, 
and  his  grandfather,  William  Neave,  had  previously 
filled  this  office,  which  (dedicated  as  it  is  to  uphold 
in  its  degree  the  order  and  decency  of  the  Established 
Church)  was  here  uninterruptedly  held  by  three 
generations  of  the  Neaves  through  a  series  of  136 
years.  In  this  period  how  many  for  whom  they 
had  prepared  the  Font  and  whose  giddy  childhood 
they  had  effectually  chastised  were  by  them  finally 
conducted  to  the  spots  around,  where  now  they  rest 
in  humble  hope  of  resurrection  to  life  eternal." 

Let  us  return  to  the  old  clerk  of  Itchen  Abbas, 
whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the  village  and  whose 
bright  memory  retained  the  story  of  its  life  during  the 


254        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

whole  of  that  long  period.  Squire,  parsons,  farmers, 
labourers,  he  remembered  them  all — the  old-style 
farmers  who  sat  at  meat  with  their  men  before  the 
division  of  classes,  and  before  the  piano  came  in  and 
the  church  organ  to  kill  the  villagers'  music.  Also 
the  fairies  and  ghosts.  The  tricksy 'little  people  were 
not  seen  but  were  known  to  be  about  in  a  field  close 
by,  "  Fairy  Field  "  it  was  called  because  when  it  was 
being  ploughed  the  horses  invariably  stopped  short 
at  a  certain  spot  and  refused  to  go  on.  Eventually, 
during  the  late  owner,  Sir  Charles  Shelley's,  time  a 
well-preserved  Roman  pavement  was  discovered  by 
chance  at  a  depth  of  three  to  four  feet,  just  on  the  spot 
over  which  the  horses  had  always  refused  to  draw  the 
plough !  The  other  supernatural  story  relates  to  an 
old  house  adjoining  the  village  and  overlooking  the 
quiet  valley  of  the  Itchen.  Here,  tradition  says,  a 
crime  was  committed  by  a  former  owner,  and  from 
the  time  of  his  death  the  place  was  haunted,  but  in 
a  singular  way ;  at  all  events  I  have  never  heard  any 
ghost  story  quite  like  it.  At  night  when  the  air  was 
perfectly  still,  a  sound  as  of  a  sudden  high  wind  could 
be  heard  among  the  trees,  travelling  like  a  whirlwind 
in  the  direction  of  the  house  but  invariably  on  coming 
to  the  house  it  would  die  away  into  silence. 

The  old  clerk  introduced  me  to  one  of  his  life-long 
pals  and  asked  him  to  tell  me  his  story  of  the  ghost. 
The  story  was  that  when  he  was  a  young  man  about 
fifty  years  ago,  he  went  to  the  house  one  still  dark  night 
about  midnight  to  get  some  apples.  There  was  a 


THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS   255 

large  apple  orchard  between  the  woods  and  the  gardens 
and  lawns  surrounding  the  house  and  divided  from 
them  by  a  high  stone  wall.  It  was  in  October  and  the 
trees  were  laden  with  tempting  ripe  apples.  Getting 
over  the  wall  he  began  hastily  plucking  the  fruit  and 
stowing  them  in  his  smockfrock  after  fastening  it  round 
his  waist  with  his  belt.  When  he  had  got  as  many 
apples  as  he  could  carry  and  began  to  reflect  that  with 
such  a  burden  it  would  be  difficult  to  climb  the  wall, 
a  sudden  rushing  sound  of  wind  rose  in  the  wood  out' 
side  the  orchard  and  appeared  to  be  coming  swiftly 
towards  him  and  the  house.  He  knew  from  all  he  had 
heard  from  others  that  it  was  the  ghost-wind.  In 
a  moment  it  rose  to  the  sound  of  a  furious  tempest 
though  not  a  leaf  trembled,  and  in  terror  he  fled  before 
it  and  in  spite  of  the  huge  burden  was  on  the  top  of 
the  wall  in  a  moment.  A  cat,  he  said,  couldn't  have 
got  up  quicker  and  he  wondered  how  he  had  done 
it !  But  on  the  top  of  the  wall  he  slipped  and 
came  down  on  the  other  side;  his  belt  parted  at 
the  same  time  and  the  apples  were  sent  rolling 
all  over  the  smooth  lawn.  He  didn't  stay  to 
pick  them  up  ;  he  made  a  dash  for  the  gate  and 
cleared  it  with  a  flying  leap  which  landed  him  in  the 
road  and  never  stayed  till  he  was  back  in  his  cottage. 
These  and  other  tales  of  the  past  were  good  to  hear, 
but  I  was  more  interested  to  know  the  story  of  the  last 
ravens  of  Avington  and  the  old  clerk  was  better  able 
to  tell  it  than  any  other  person  in  the  village. 
The  raven,  whether  we  love  it  or  no,  is  the  most 


256        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

fascinating  of  feathered  beings.  Its  powerful  character 
impresses  the  imagination.  Certainly  it  has  an  in- 
telligence almost  uncanny  in  a  bird ;  a  savage  spirit 
too,  and  power  ;  a  deep  human-like  voice  ;  and  a  very 
long  life.  These  qualities  affect  the  mind  and  have 
been  the  cause  of  the  raven's  strange  reputation  in 
former  ages — the  idea  that  he  was  something  more 
than  a  bird,  a  messenger  of  doom,  an  evil  spirit,  or  the 
spirit  of  some  great  dead  man  revisiting  the  scenes  of 
his  earthly  career. 

Common  all  over  the  country  down  to  the  early  years 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  he  has  now  been  pretty  well 
exterminated  as  an  inland  bird.  On  the  iron-bound 
coasts  in  a  few  spots  where  his  eggs  are  comparatively 
safe,  and  in  a  few  wild  mountainous  districts  in  the 
interior,  he  still  exists.  But  it  does  not  seem  long  since 
he  was  lost,  for  his  memory  still  lives :  "  raven  trees  " 
are  common  all  over  the  country — trees  in  which 
the  vanished  birds  built  their  big  nests  and  reared  their 
young  each  year.  Tales  of  "  last  ravens  "  are  also  told 
in  numberless  places  all  over  the  country.  Every  one 
who  knows  his  "  Selborne  "  will  remember  the  pathetic 
history  of  the  last  ravens  in  his  neighbourhood 
told  by  Gilbert  White.  That  is  a  long  time  back, 
and  it  is  known  that  ravens  continued  to  breed  in  Hamp- 
shire for  over  a  century  after  White's  death.  I  am  here 
speaking  of  the  inland-breeding  birds ;  for  up  till  now 
one  pair  of  ravens  still  breed  on  the  Isle  of  Wight 
cliffs.  The  last  pair  of  birds  that  bred  inland,  on  trees, 
were  the  Avington  ravens.  How  long  they  inhabited 


THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS  257 

that  ancient  noble  domain  I  do  not  know,  but  it  is 
certain  that  they  continued  to  breed  annually  in  the 
park  until  about  the  year  1 885 .  The  "  ravens'  clump  " 
where  the  birds  had  their  nest  still  flourishes,  but 
the  more  famous,  immeasurably  older  Gospel  Oak  which 
was  an  ancient  tree  when  the  cathedral  at  Winchester 
was  built  and  is  believed  to  be  the  tree  under  which 
S.  Augustine  stood  when  he  preached  to  the  heathen 
in  these  parts,  is,  alas !  dead  for  ever,  and  its  hollow 
ruinous  trunk  is  slowly  crumbling  to  dust. 

These  Avington  ravens  were  a  good  deal  persecuted, 
but  invariably  when  one  lost  its  life  the  other  would 
disappear  for  a  few  days  to  find  and  bring  home  a  new 
mate.  At  last  some  scoundrel  got  both  birds,  and 
that  was  the  end,  for  of  course  no  others  came  to  fill 
their  place.  The  old  clerk  related  that  when  he  was 
a  young  man  he  worked  for  some  years  as  under-wood- 
man  on  the  estate,  and  he  had  many  exciting  stories  to 
tell  of  his  tree-climbing  feats.  In  those  distant  days 
— about  1850 — climbing  contests  were  common  among 
the  men  who  worked  in  the  woods  and  parks,  and  he 
was  the  champion  tree-climber  in  the  place.  One 
day,  when  coming  from  work  with  the  other  men,  a 
squirrel  was  seen  to  run  up  an  exceedingly  tall  isolated 
fir  tree,  and  he,  in  a  moment  of  madness,  undertook 
to  catch  and  bring  it  down.  Up  after  the  squirrel  he 
went  until  he  could  go  no  farther,  and  the  little  thing 
was  still  above  him,  afraid  to  jump  down  and  give  him 
a  chance  to  capture  it,  clinging  to  a  slender  branch 
directly  over  his  head  and  out  of  reach.  He  then 


258         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

thought  to  knock  it  down  into  his  hands,  and  having 
selected  a  small  branch  for  the  purpose  was  engaged 
in  wrenching  it  off  when  the  squirrel  made  his  jump, 
and  as  it  came  flying  down  past  his  head  he  attempted 
to  capture  it,  using  both  hands,  but  missed  it,  and  at 
the  same  time  his  legs  lost  their  grip  on  the  branch 
he  was  on  ;  and  down  after  the  squirrel  he  came,  crash- 
ing through  the  higher  branches  and  coming  at  last 
with  a  thud  to  the  earth.  He  had  fallen  on  his  back, 
and  was  taken  up  senseless  and  terribly  injured  and 
sent  away  to  the  Hospital  at  Winchester.  For  twelve 
long  months  he  was  kept  there,  on  his  back,  and  when 
sent  home  was  told  that  he  would  never  be  fit  to  do 
any  outdoor  work,  although  he  might  perhaps  live 
for  some  years.  They  were  wrong;  he  did  get  per- 
fectly well,  and  when  I  knew  him,  half  a  century  or 
more  after  this  terrible  accident,  he  was  still  hard  at 
work  mowing,  digging  and  wood-cutting. 

Two  or  three  years  before  this  terrible  fall  put  an  end 
to  his  tree-climbing  exploits,  a  member  of  the  ducal 
family  who  were  then  the  owners  of  Avington 
thought  it  would  be  interesting  to  have  some  tame 
ravens  as  pets,  and  the  young  champion  climber  was 
instructed  to  take  the  fledgelings  from  the  nest  in 
the  park. 

When  he  got  up  to  the  nest  he  was  surprised  to  find 
six  birds,  half-fledged  ;  and  he  took  them  all,  and  all 
were  safely  reared  at  the  house.  These  birds  when 
grown  remained  perfectly  tame  although  they  were 
never  pinioned  ;  they  spent  most  of  their  time  flying 


THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LAST  RAVENS  259 

about  the  park  and  outside  of  it,  but  invariably  came  to 
the  house  to  be  fed  and  to  roost. 

As  time  went  on  it  was  observed  that  the  old  birds 
became  more  and  more  jealous  of  their  presence  in 
their  territory  and  from  day  to  day  they  persecuted 
them  with  increasing  fury.  The  young  accustomed 
to  be  fed  at  the  house,  refused  to  leave  the  place,  as 
the  young  reared  annually  in  the  nest  are  invariably 
compelled  to  do ;  and  the  result  was  that  one  by  one 
they  were  killed  by  their  savage  parents.  My  inform- 
ant actually  witnessed  the  killing  of  one  of  them  : 
the  young  bird  tried  to  escape  by  flying  to  the  house, 
but  was  buffeted  with  such  fury  that  in  the  end  it  was 
borne  down  to  the  earth  in  the  park  and  was  then 
quickly  done  to  death  by  the  savage  blows  of  the  two 
powerful  beaks. 

There  are  other  birds  just  as  intolerant  of  the 
presence  of  their  full-grown  young  as  the  raven.  This 
is  the  case  with  our  robin  redbreast,  but  in  the  case  of 
this  species  it  is  the  cock  bird  only  that  rights  and  the 
fight  is  thus  a  more  equal  one.  The  young  bird  some- 
times conquers  the  old  one.  In  the  raven,  the  mother 
bird  hates  her  children  as  much  as  the  father  does, 
and  as  they  fight  in  company,  playing  into  each  other's 
hands,  and  take  their  young  one  by  one,  they  are 
invariably  the  victors. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS 

M 

"  THE  groves  were  God's  first  temples,"  says  the  poet ; 
and  viewed  from  the  outside  no  groves  are  so  like  the 
temples  made  with  hands,  Christian  or  pagan,  as  the 
"  clumps,"  as  they  are  commonly  called,  growing  on  the 
chalk  hills  in  Sussex,  Hampshire,  Wilts,  and  Dorset. 
Nature's  way  is  to  grow  her  larger  trees  on  the  lower 
levels,  and  it  is  doubtfnl  that  the  downs  have  ever  had  a 
forest  growth  other  than  the  kind  which  we  find  on  them 
now,  composed  mainly  of  the  lesser  native  trees — haw- 
thorn, blackthorn,  holly,  juniper,  and  yews  of  no  great 
size,  mixed  with  furze,  bramble,  and  wild  clematis. 
All  these  plants  are  perpetually  springing  into  existence 
everywhere  on  the  downs,  and  are  persistently  fed 
down  and  killed  by  the  sheep  ;  take  the  sheep  away 
from  any  down,  and  in  a  few  years,  as  I  have  seen,  it 
becomes  an  almost  continuous  thicket,  and  that,  one 
imagines,  must  have  been  its  original  condition.  We 
must  suppose  that  man  in  early  times,  or  during  the 
Neolithic  period  when  he  had  domestic  animals  and 
agriculture,  found  the  chalk  hills  a  better  place  than 
the  lowlands,  covered  as  they  must  then  have  been 
with  a  dense  forest  growth,  the  habitation  of  wolves 
260 


THE  TEMPLES   OF  THE  HILLS       261 

and  other  rapacious  beasts.  On  the  hills  where  the 
thin  soil  produced  only  a  dwarfish  tree  vegetation,  it 
was  easier  to  make  a  clearing  and  pasture  for  his  cattle. 
No  doubt  it  was  also  easier  for  him  to  defend  himself 
and  his  possessions  against  wild  beasts  and  savage  human 
enemies  in  such  situations.  The  hills  were  without 
water,  but  the  discovery  and  invention  of  the  dew- 
pond,  probably  by  some  genius  of  the  later  Stone  Age, 
made  the  hill-people  independent  of  natural  springs 
and  rivers.  In  later  times,  when  the  country  was 
everywhere  colonised  and  more  settled,  the  hill-people 
probably  emigrated  to  the  lower  lands,  where  the 
ground  was  better  suited  for  cattle-grazing  and  for 
growing  crops.  The  hills  were  abandoned  to  the 
shepherd  and  the  hunter  ;  and  doubtless  as  the  ages 
went  on  they  became  more  and  more  a  sheep-walk ; 
for  it  must  have  been  observed  from  early  times  that 
the  effect  of  the  sheep  on  the  land  was  to  change  its 
character  and  to  make  it  more  and  more  suited  to 
the  animal's  requirements.  Thus,  the  very  aspect  of 
the  downs,  as  we  know  them,  was  first  imparted  and  is 
maintained  in  them  by  the  sheep — the  thousands  on 
thousands  of  busy  close-nibbling  mouths  keeping  the 
grass  and  herbage  close  down  to  the  ground,  and  killing 
year  by  year  every  forest  seedling.  And  how  wonder- 
ful they  are — that  great  sea  of  vast  pale  green  billowy 
hills,  extending  bare  against  the  wide  sky  to  the  horizon, 
clothed  with  that  elastic  fragrant  turf  which  it  is  a  joy 
to  walk  on,  and  has  nothing  like  it  in  the  world  ! 

It  must  have  been  in  quite  recent  times,  probably 


262         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

during  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  that  the 
idea  first  came  into  the  mind  of  a  landowner  here  and 
there  that  a  grove  on  the  top  of  a  high  bare  chalk  down 
would  have  a  noble  appearance,  and  form  a  striking 
landmark  for  all  the  country  round.  The  result  is  our 
hill-top  clumps  :  and  one  would  have  imagined  that 
the  effect  would  be  altogether  bad  ;  for  how  could  a 
tall  dark  grove  on  a  hill  in  a  country  of  such  an  aspect, 
of  smooth  rounded  pale-green  downs,  be  anything 
but  inharmonious  ?  Either  it  is  not  so,  or  long  custom 
has  reconciled  us  to  this  ornament  invented  by  man, 
and  has  even  made  it  pleasing  to  the  eye.  Association 
comes  in,  too  :  I  notice  that  the  clumps  which  please 
me  best  are  those  which  are  most  temple-like  in  their 
forms.  Thus,  a  grove  of  trees  of  various  kinds  growing 
in  a  dense  mass,  as  in  the  case  of  the  famous  Chancton- 
bury  Ring  on  the  South  Downs,  gives  me  no  pleasure 
at  all :  while  a  grove  of  Scotch  firs,  the  trunks  suffi- 
ciently far  apart  as  to  appear  like  pillars  upholding  the 
dark  dense  foliage,  has  a  singular  attraction.  In  some 
instances  the  effect  on  the  hill  itself  of  its  crown  of 
trees  is  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  vast  mound 
artificially  raised  by  man  on  which  to  build  or  plant  his 
temple.  This  is  most  striking  when,  as  at  Badbury 
Rings,  in  Dorset,  the  hill  is  round  and  low,  with  a 
grove  of  old,  very  large  trees.  In  this  case  the  effect 
is  heightened  by  the  huge  prehistoric  earthworks, 
ring  within  ring,  enclosing  the  grove  on  the  space  in- 
side. Indeed,  the  sublimest  of  these  temple-groves 
are  not  those  which  stand  on  the  highest  hills ;  in 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE   HILLS       263 

many  cases  they  stand  but  a  little  above  the  surround- 
ing level,  as  in  the  case  of  Badbury  Rings  and  of  Holly- 
water  Clump  in  Wolmer  Forest,  where  the  soil  is  sand. 

To  my  mind  the  best  appearance  presented  by  the 
higher  hill-top  groves  is  on  a  hot,  windless  summer 
day,  during  the  phenomenon  of  "  visible  air,"  or  "  heat," 
when  the  atmosphere  near  the  surface  appears  as  a 
silvery  mist,  or  as  thinnest  white  and  crystalline  flames, 
ascending,  wavering,  dancing,  and  producing  an  illusion 
of  motion  in  all  distant  solid  objects,  such  as  houses, 
fences,  trees,  and  cattle.  If  the  sun  had  greater  power, 
this  silvery  flame-like  appearance  would  become  more 
visible  still  and  take  the  appearance  of  water  of  a 
marvellous  brilliancy,  as  of  molten  silver,  flowing  over 
the  earth,  with  cattle  standing  knee-deep  in  it,  and 
distant  buildings  and  groves  rising  like  islands  out  of  it. 
This  effect  of  mirage  is  occasionally  visible  in  England 
in  hot,  dry  summers,  but  is  very  rare.  It  is  on  these 
burning  silvery  days,  when  air  and  sunlight  have  a 
new  magic,  that  I  like  best  to  seethe  hill-top  grove  ; 
when  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  two  the  tall  columnar 
trunks  of  the  pines,  showing  the  light  between,  seem  to 
have  a  wavering  motion,  and,  with  the  high  dense  roof 
of  branches,  look  absolutely  black  against  the  brilliant 
whiteness  of  the  air  and  the  pale  hot  sky  beyond. 

The  downland  groves  are,  however,  less  to  me  in 
their  aesthetic  aspect,  and  as  features  in  the  landscape, 
than  as  haunts  of  wild  life.  It  is  indeed  as  small  islands 
of  animal  life  that  I  view  them,  scattered  over  the  sea- 
like  smooth  green  waste,  vacant  as  the  sea.  TO  others 


264        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

it  may  not  be  so — to  the  artist,  for  example,  in  search 
of  something  to  draw.  We  have  each  our  distinct 
interests,  aims,  trades,  or  what  you  like  :  that  which 
I  seek  adds  nothing,  and  takes  nothing  from  his  picture, 
and  is  consequently  negligible.  We  cannot  escape 
the  reflex  effect  of  our  own  little  vocations — our  pre- 
occupations with  one  side  of  things,  one  aspect  of 
nature.  Their  life  is  to  me  their  beauty,  or  the  chief 
element  in  it,  without  which  they  would  indeed  be 
melancholy  places.  It  refreshes  me  more  than  the 
shade  of  the  great  leafy  roof  on  a  burning  day.  On 
this  account,  because  of  the  life  in  them,  I  prefer  the 
clumps  on  the  lower  hills.  They  grow  more  luxuri- 
antly, often  with  much  undergrowth,  sometimes  sur- 
rounded with  dense  thickets  of  thorn,  furze,  and 
bramble.  These  are  attractive  spots  to  wild  birds, 
and  when  not  guarded  by  a  gamekeeper  form  little 
refuges  where  even  the  shy  persecuted  species  may 
breed  in  comparative  security.  It  is  with  a  sense  of 
positive  relief  that  I  often  turn  my  back  on  some 
great  wood  or  forest  where  one  naturally  goes  in  quest 
of  woodland  species,  even  after  many  disappointments, 
to  spend  a  day,  or  many  days,  with  the  feathered  in- 
habitants of  one  of  these  isolated  groves. 

The  birds,  too,  may  be  better  observed  in  these 
places ;  they  are  less  terrified  at  the  appearance  of  the 
human  form  than  in  woods  and  forests  where  the 
pheasant  is  preserved,  and  man  means  (to  the  bird's 
mind)  a  gamekeeper  with  a  gun  in  his  hand.  For,  in 
many  cases,  especially  in  Wiltshire,  the  hill-groves 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       265 

are  on  land  owned  by  the  farmers  themselves,  who  keep 
their  own  shootings,  and  do  not  employ  a  gamekeeper. 

One  day  I  was  standing  under  a  low  oak-tree  at  the 
highest  point  in  an  immense  wood,  where  the  sight 
could  range  for  a  long  distance  over  the  tree-tops, 
when  I  was  astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  carrion-crow 
flying  low  over  the  trees,  and  coming  straight  to- 
wards me.  It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  in  that 
place  where  I  had  spent  several  days,  and  had  seen  no 
crow  and  no  bird  of  any  kind  banned  by  the  keepers. 
Yet  this  was  one  of  the  largest  woods  in  Wiltshire,  in 
appearance  an  absolutely  wild  forest,  covering  many 
miles  without  a  village  or  house  within  a  mile  of  its 
borders  on  any  side,  and  with  no  human  occupants 
except  the  four  or  five  keepers  who  ranged  it  to  look 
after  its  millionaire  owner's  pheasants.  The  crow  did 
not  catch  sight  of  me  until  within  about  forty  yards 
from  the  tree  under  which  I  stood,  whereupon,  with  a 
loud  croak  of  terror,  he  turned  instantly,  and  dashed 
away  at  right-angles  to  his  original  course  at  his  utmost 
speed. 

Leaving  the  great  wood,  I  went  a  few  miles  away  to 
visit  one  of  the  large  unprotected  clumps,  and  found 
there  a  family  of  four  carrion-crows — two  adults  and 
two  young ;  at  my  approach  they  flapped  heavily 
from  the  tree  in  which  they  were  resting,  and  flew 
slowly  to  another  about  fifty  yards  away,  and  sat  there 
peering  at  me  and  uttering  loud  caws  as  if  protesting 
against  the  intrusion. 

At  another  unprotected  clump  on  a  low  down  I 


266         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

discovered  a  varied  colony  of  birds — some  breeding, 
others  with  young  out  of  the  nest.  It  was  a  large  grove 
of  old  pine-trees,  almost  shut  in  with  a  thick  growth  of 
thorn  and  holly,  mixed  with  bramble  and  masses  of 
wild  clematis.  It  was  full  of  the  crooning  sound  of 
turtle-doves,  and  in  the  high  firs  several  wood-pigeons 
had  their  nests.  There  were  several  magpies  and  in- 
variably on  my  coming  to  the  spot  they  would  put  in 
an  appearance — quaint  black-and-white  birds,  sitting 
on  the  top  boughs  of  the  thorns  always  with  their 
decorative  tails  behind  them.  A  pair  of  carrion-crows 
were  there  too,  but  appeared  to  have  no  nest  or  young. 
Better  still  it  was  to  find  a  family  of  long-eared  owls — 
two  adults  and  three  young,  beginning  to  fend  for 
themselves.  Best  of  all  was  a  pair  of  sparrow-hawks 
with  young  in  their  nest ;  for  the  sparrow-hawk  is  one 
of  my  prime  favourites,  and  the  presence  of  these  birds 
delighted  me  even  more  than  that  of  the  owls. 

It  was  evident  that  these  hawks  did  not  associate 
my  appearance  with  the  quick  sharp  report  of  a  gun 
and  the  rattle  of  shot  about  them,  with  perhaps  the 
fiery  sting  of  a  pellet  of  lead  in  their  flesh,  for  they  were 
exceedingly  bold  and  vociferous  whenever  I  approached 
the  nesting-tree.  I  visited  them  on  several  days  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  hearing  them.  The  female 
was  very  bold  and  handsome  to  look  at.  Sometimes 
she  would  perch  above  me  in  such  a  position  as  to 
appear  silhouetted  against  the  blue,  intensely  bright 
sky,  looking  inky-black  on  her  black  branch.  Then, 
flying  to  another  branch  where  the  light  woulcl  be  on 


THE  TEMPLES   OF   THE  HILLS       267 

her  and  a  mass  of  dark  pine-needles  for  a  background, 
one  could  see  the  colouring  of  her  plumage.  Seen 
through  a  powerful  binocular,  she  would  appear  as 
big  as  a  goshawk,  and  as  beautiful  as  that  noblest  of  our 
lost  hawks  in  her  pigeon-blue  wings  and  upper  plumage, 
the  white  breast  barred  with  brown,  thin  yellow  shanks 
and  long  black  claws,  and  the  shining  yellow  eyes, 
exceedingly  wild  and  fierce.  Presently  her  little  mate 
would  appear,  carrying  a  small  bird  in  his  claws,  and 
begin  darting  wildly  about  among  the  trees,  screaming 
his  loudest,  but  would  refuse  to  visit  the  nest.  In 
the  end  my  persistence  would  tire  them  out ;  gradu- 
ally the  piercing  reiterated  cries  would  grow  less  and  less 
frequent,  and  finally  cease  altogether.  The  female 
would  fly  from  tree  to  tree,  coming  nearer  and  still 
nearer  to  the  nest,  until  at  last  she  would  perch  directly 
over  it  and  look  down  upon  her  young,  and  finally 
drop  upon  them  and  disappear  from  sight.  And  by- 
and-by  the  male,  approaching  in  the  same  cautious  way, 
would  at  length  fly  to  the  nest  and,  without  alighting, 
just  hovering  a  moment,  drop  his  bird  upon  it,  then 
dash  away  and  quit  the  grove.  She  would  then  refuse 
to  come  off,  even  when  I  would  strike  loudly  on  the 
tree  with  a  stick ;  yet  on  my  return  on  the  following 
day  the  whole  performance  would  be  gone  through 
again. 

Watching  these  birds  from  day  today  with  an  endless 
delight  in  their  beauty  and  vigour,  their  dashing  flight, 
and  shrill  passionate  cries  of  anger  and  apprehension, 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  all  the  pleasure  that  hawks 


268         ADVENTURES  AMONG   BIRDS 

in  general  are  to  the  lover  of  wild  life  in  countries 
where  these  birds  are  permitted  to  exist,  and,  in  a 
minor  degree,  even  in  this  tame  England — this  land 
of  glorified  poultry-farms.  There  is  no  more  fascinat- 
ing spectacle  in  wild  life  than  the  chase  of  its  quarry 
by  a  swift-winged  hawk  ;  and  on  this  account  I  should 
be  inclined  to  put  hawking  above  all  other  sports  but 
for  the  feeling  which  some  of  us  can  never  wholly 
get  away  from,  that  it  is  unworthy  of  us  as  rational 
and  humane  beings  possessing  unlimited  power  over 
all  other  animals,  to  take  and  train  any  wild  rapacious 
creature  to  hunt  others  to  the  death  solely  for  the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  its  prowess.  No  such  disturbing 
feeling  can  affect  us  in  witnessing  the  contests  of  bird 
with  bird  in  a  state  of  nature.  Here  pursuer  and 
pursued  are  but  following  their  instincts  and  fulfilling 
their  lives,  and  we  as  neutrals  are  but  spectators  of 
their  magnificent  aerial  displays.  Such  sights  are 
now  unhappily  rare  with  us.  At  one  period  of  my  life 
in  a  distant  country  they  were  common  enough,  and 
sometimes  witnessed  every  day  for  weeks  at  a  stretch. 
Here  the  noblest  of  our  hawks  are  all  but  gone.  The 
peregrine,  the  most  perfect  of  the  falcons — perhaps, 
as  some  naturalists  think,  the  most  perfect  of  the  entire 
feathered  race — maintains  a  precarious  existence  on 
the  boldest  sea-cliffs,  and  as  to  the  hobby,  it  is  now 
nearly  extinct.  The  courageous  little  merlin  does  not 
range  in  southern  England,  and  is  very  rare  even  in 
its  northernmost  counties.  The  kestrel  is  with  us  still, 
and  it  is  beautiful  to  see  him  suspended  motionless  in 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       269 

mid-air  with  swiftly  vibrating  wings  like  a  gigantic 
hover-fly ;  but  he  is  nothing  more  than  a  mouser 
and  an  insect-eater,  a  falcon  that  has  lost  the  noble 
courage  of  his  tribe.  The  splendid  powerful  goshawk, 
a  veritable  king  among  hawks,  has  long  been  extinct ; 
only  his  little  cousin,  the  sparrow-hawk,  lives  on  in 
ever-diminishing  numbers.  But  although  small  and, 
as  his  name  implies,  a  preyer  chiefly  on  little  birds,  he 
has  the  qualities  of  his  noble  relation.  In  wooded 
places  I  am  always  on  the  look-out  for  him  in  hopes  of 
witnessing  one  of  his  dashing  raids  on  the  feathered 
population.  As  a  rule  there  is  little  to  see,  for  the 
sparrow-hawk  usually  takes  his  quarry  by  surprise, 
rushing  along  the  hedgerow,  or  masked  by  trees,  then 
bounding  like  a  small  hunting  leopard  of  the  air  on  his 
victim  and,  if  the  stroke  has  been  missed,  speeding  on 
his  way.  Even  if  I  do  not  see  this  much — if  I  just  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  blue  figure  speeding  by,  seen  for  a 
moment,  then  vanishing  among  the  trees — it  is  a 
pleasure  to  me,  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  he  still 
exists,  this  little  living  link  with  the  better  vanished 
past,  and  my  day  has  not  been  wasted. 

Here,  on  the  open  downs  where  the  small  birds  when 
feeding  have  no  close  refuge  into  which  they  can 
quickly  vanish  at  the  sight  of  danger,  he  may  oc- 
casionally be  watched  chasing  them  as  a  dog  on  the 
ground  chases  a  rabbit ;  but  the  best  display  is  when 
he  goes  after  a  flock  of  starlings.  At  no  other  time  does 
a  company  of  these  birds  appear  so  like  a  single  organism 
composed  of  many  separate  bodies  governed  by  one 


270         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

will.  Only  when  he  is  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  if, 
in  spite  of  their  quick  doublings,  he  succeeds  in  getting 
there,  do  they  instantly  all  fly  apart  and  are  like  the 
flying  fragments  of  a  violently  shattered  mass ;  then, 
if  he  has  not  already  made  his  capture,  he  singles  out 
one  bird  to  pursue. 

A  still  better  spectacle  is  afforded  by  the  fiery- 
hearted  little  bird-hunter  when,  after  the  harvest, 
he  ranges  over  the  fields ;  when  the  village  sparrows, 
mixed  with  finches  of  several  species,  are  out  on  the 
stubble,  often  in  immense  congregations  covering 
half  a  large  field  from  end  to  end.  On  such  occasions 
they  like  to  feed  near  a  hedge  and  are  thickest  on  the 
ground  at  a  distance  of  three  or  four  seconds'  flight 
from  the  thorny  shelter.  Suddenly  the  dreaded 
enemy  appears,  topping  the  hedges  at  its  far  end,  and 
at  the  same  instant,  the  whole  vast  gathering,  extend- 
ing the  entire  length  of  the  field,  is  up  in  the  air,  their 
innumerable,  swiftly  fluttering,  translucent  wings, 
which  produce  a  loud  humming  sound,  giving  them 
the  appearance  of  a  dense  silvery  brown  mist  springing 
up  from  the  earth.  In  another  instant  they  are  safe 
in  the  hedge  and  not  a  bird  is  visible.  In  some  in- 
stances the  hawk  is  too  intent  on  his  prey  to  hurry  on 
to  other  fields  hoping  for  better  luck  next  time.  No, 
there  are  thousands  here  ;  he  will  drive  them  out 
and  have  one  !  Then,  heedless  of  your  presence,  he 
ranges  up  and  down  the  hedge,  rising  at  intervals  to  a 
height  of  thirty  or  forty  feet  and,  pausing  to  hover  a 
few  moments  like  a  kestrel,  dashes  down  as  if  to  descend 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       271 

into  the  hedge  to  wrest  a  sparrow  from  its  perch,  and 
when  just  touching  the  surface  of  the  thorny  tangle 
the  flight  is  arrested  and  he  skims  on  a  few  yards,  to 
mount  again  and  repeat  his  feint.  And  at  every  down- 
ward dash  a  simultaneous  cry  of  terror  is  uttered  by 
the  small  birds — a  strange  sound,  that  cry  of  thousands 
extending  the  whole  length  of  the  hedge,  yet  like  one 
cry  !  If  you  then  walk  by  the  hedge-side  and  peer 
into  it,  you  will  see  the  small  birds  crowded  together 
on  branchlets  and  twigs  as  near  the  middle  of  the  hedge 
as  they  can  get,  each  particular  bird  perched  erect, 
stiff  and  motionless,  like  a  little  wooden  dummy  bird 
refusing  to  stir  even  when  you  stand  within  arm's 
reach  of  him.  For  though  they  fear  and  fly  from  the 
human  form,  the  feeling  is  overmastered  and  almost 
vanishes  in  their  extreme  terror  of  the  sharp-winged 
figure  of  the  little  feathered  tyrant  hovering  above 
them. 

Undoubtedly  it  is  a  fine  spectacle — one  that  lives 
in  the  memory  though  less  beautiful  than  that  of  the 
peregrine  or  other  high-flying  hawk  in  its  chase  and 
conquest  of  its  quarry  at  a  great  height  in  the  air  ; 
but  in  this  matter  of  hawks  and  their  fascinating  ex- 
hibitions we  have  long  come  to  the  day  of  small  things. 

Something  remains  to  be  said  of  the  owls — or  rather 
of  the  long-eared  owl,  this  being  the  only  species  I  have 
met  with  in  the  temples  of  the  hills.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem  to  readers  who  are  not  intimately  acquainted  with 
this  bird,  I  was  able  to  see  it  even  more  clearly  than 
the  sparrow-hawk  in  the  full  blaze  of  noonday.  The 


272        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

binocular  was  not  required.  There  were  five  of  them 
— two  old  and  three  young  birds — and  it  was  their 
habit  to  spend  the  daylight  hours  sitting  in  a  bush 
just  outside  the  grove.  After  discovering  their 
haunt  I  was  able  to  find  them  on  most  days,  and  one 
day  had  a  rare  spectacle  when  I  came  upon  the  whole 
family,  two  in  one  bush  and  three  sitting  close  together 
in  another.  I  stood  for  some  time,  less  than  a  dozen 
yards  from  these  three,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  on  a 
dead  branch  in  the  hollow  of  a  furze-bush,  its  spiny 
roof  above  them,  but  the  cavity  on  my  side.  I  gazed 
at  them,  three  feathered  wild  cats,  very  richly  coloured 
with  the  sun  shining  full  on  them,  their  long  black 
narrow  ears  erect  in  astonishment,  while  they  stared 
back  at  me  out  of  three  pairs  of  round  luminous 
orange-yellow  eyes.  By-and-by,  getting  nervous  at 
my  presence,  they  flung  themselves  out,  and,  flying 
to  a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  settled  down  in 
another  bush. 

I  had  another  delightful  experience  with  long-eared 
owls  at  another  of  the  downland  groves  about  fifteen 
miles  distant  from  the  last.  Here,  too,  it  was  a  family 
— the  parents  and  two  young  birds.  I  could  not  find 
them  in  the  day-time  ;  but  they  were  always  out  at 
sunset,  the  young  crying  to  be  fed,  the  parents  gliding 
to  and  fro,  but  not  yet  leaving  the  shadow  of  the 
trees.  I  went  at  the  same  hour  on  several  evenings  to 
watch  them  and  experience  pleasing  little  thrills.  I 
would  station  myself  in  the  middle  of  the  grove  and 
stand  motionless  against  one  of  the  tall  pines,  while  the 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       273 

two  young  birds  would  fly  backwards  and  forwards 
from  end  to  end  of  the  grove  perching  at  intervals 
to  call  in  their  catty  voices,  and  then  resume  their 
exercises.  By-and-by  a  sudden  puff  of  air  would  fan 
my  cheek  or  it  would  be  slightly  brushed  with  feather- 
ends,  and  an  owl  would  sweep  by.  This  trick  they 
would  repeat  again  and  again,  always  flying  at  my  head 
from  behind  ;  and  so  noiseless  was  the  flight  that  I 
could  never  tell  that  the  bird  was  coming  until  it 
actually  touched  or  almost  touched  me  in  passing. 
These  were  indeed  the  most  ghostlike  owls  I  had  ever 
encountered  ;  and  they  had  no  fear  of  the  human 
form,  though  it  evidently  excited  their  curiosity  and 
suspicion,  and  no  knowledge  of  man's  deadly  power  : 
for  this  grove,  too,  stood  on  land  owned  by  the  person 
who  farmed  it,  and  he  was  his  own  gamekeeper. 

Thinking  on  my  experience  with  these  owls  in  an 
unprotected  clump  in  Wiltshire,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
owls  of  different  species,  where  these  birds  are  not 
persecuted,  are  apt  to  indulge  in  this  same  habit  or 
trick,  almost  of  the  nature  of  a  practical  joke,  of  flying 
at  you  from  behind  and  dashing  close  to  your  face  to 
startle  you.  I  remembered  that  in  my  early  years,  in 
a  distant  land  where  that  world-ranging  species,  the 
short-eared  owl,  was  common,  I  had  often  been  made 
to  jump  by  this  bird. 

It  is  sad  to  reflect  that  the  few  clumps  which  form 

bird  refuges  such  as  the  one  described — small  oases  of 

wild  life  in  the  midst  of  a  district  where  all  the  most 

interesting  species  are  ruthlessly  extirpated — are  never 

18 


274        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

safe  from  the  destroyer.  A  few  years  of  indifference 
or  kindly  toleration  or  love  of  birds  on  the  owner's 
or  tenant's  part  may  serve  to  people  the  grove,  but 
the  shooting  may  be  let  any  day  to  the  landlord  or 
shooting-tenant  of  the  adjoining  property,  whereupon 
his  gamekeeper  will  step  in  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of 
what  he  calls  vermin. 

Last  summer  I  visited  a  hill-grove  which  was  new 
to  me,  about  thirteen  miles  distant  from  the  one  where 
I  met  with  owls  and  sparrow-hawks  and  other  perse- 
cuted species ;  and  as  it  was  an  exceptionally  large 
grove,  surrounded  by  a  growth  of  furze  and  black  and 
white  thorn,  and  at  a  good  distance  from  any  house, 
I  hoped  to  find  it  a  habitation  of  interesting  bird  life. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  see  or  hear  excepting  a  pair 
of  yellowhammers,  a  few  greenfinches  and  tits,  with 
two  or  three  other  feathered  mites.  It  was  a  strictly 
protected  grove,  as  I  eventually  discovered  when 
I  came  on  a  keeper's  gibbet  where  the  pines  were 
thickest.  Here  were  many  stoats,  weasels,  and  moles 
suspended  to  a  low  branch  :  crows  and  rooks,  a  magpie, 
and  two  jays  and  eleven  small  hawks;  three  of  these 
were  sparrow-hawks — one  in  full,  the  others  in  im- 
mature plumage — and  eight  kestrels. 

This,  judging  from  the  condition  of  the  corpses — 
one  or  two  newly  killed,  while  the  oldest  were  dried  up 
to  bones  and  feathers — was  probably  the  harvest  of  a 
year  or  more.  The  zealous  keeper  had  no  doubt  ex- 
hibited these  trophies  to  the  noble  sportsman,  his 
master,  who  probably  rejoiced  at  the  sight,  though 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       275 

knowing  that  the  kestrel  is  a  protected  species.  This 
grove,  its  central  tree  decorated  after  the  manner  of  a 
modern  woman  with  wings  and  carcasses  of  birds  and 
heads  and  tails  of  little  beasts  was  like  a  small  tran- 
script of  any  one  of  those  vast  woods  and  forests  in  which 
I  had  spent  so  many  days  in  this  same  downland  dis- 
trict. The  curse  and  degradation  were  on  it,  and  from 
that  time  the  sight  of  it  was  unpleasant,  even  when  so 
far  removed  as  to  appear  nothing  but  a  blue  cloud-like 
mound,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  on  the  horizon. 
There  is  something  wanting  in  all  these  same  great 
woods  I  have  spoken  of  which  spoils  them  for  me  and 
in  some  measure,  perhaps,  for  those  who  have  any  feel- 
ing for  Nature's  wildness  in  them.  It  has  been  to  me 
like  an  oppression  during  my  rambles,  year  after  year, 
in  such  woods  as  Savernake,  Collingbourne,  Longleat, 
Cranbourne  Chase,  Fonthill,  Great  Ridge  Wood, 
Bentley  and  Groveley  Woods — all  within  or  on  the 
borders  of  the  Wiltshire  down  country.  This  feeling 
or  sense  of  something  wanting  is  stronger  still  in  dis- 
tricts where  there  are  higher  and  rougher  hills,  a  larger 
landscape,  and  a  wilder  nature,  as  in  the  Quantocks — 
in  the  great  wooded  slopes  and  summits  above  Over 
Stowey,  for  example ;  the  loss,  in  fact,  is  everywhere 
in  all  woodland  and  incult  places,  but  I  need  not  go 
away  from  these  Wiltshire  woods  already  named. 
They  are  great  enough,  one  would  imagine,  to  satisfy 
any  person's  love  of  wildness  and  solitude.  Here  you 
will  find  places  in  appearance  like  a  primitive  forest, 
where  the  trees  have  grown  as  they  would  for  genera- 


276         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

tions  untouched  by  man's  hand,  and  are  interspersed 
with  thorny  thickets  and  wide  sunny  spaces,  stony  and 
barren  or  bright  with  flowers.  Here,  too,  are  groves 
of  the  most  ancient  oaks  in  the  land,  grey  giants  that 
might  have  been  growing  in  the  time  of  the  Conquest, 
their  immense  horizontal  branches  rough  with  growth 
of  fern  and  lichen  ;  in  the  religious  twilight  of  their 
shade  you  might  spend  a  long  summer  day  without 
meeting  a  human  being  or  hearing  any  faintest  sound 
of  human  life.  A  boundless  contiguity  of  shade  such 
as  the  sensitive  poet  desired,  where  he  might  spend  his 
solitary  life  and  never  more  have  his  ears  pained,  his 
soul  made  sick,  with  daily  reports  of  oppression  and  de- 
ceit and  wrong  and  outrage. 

To  the  natural  man  they  have  another  call.  Like 
the  ocean  and  the  desert  they  revive  a  sense  and  feeling 
of  which  we  had  been  unconscious,  but  which  is  always 
in  us,  in  our  very  marrow  ;  the  sense  which,  as  Herbert 
Spencer  has  said,  comes  down  to  us  from  our  remote 
progenitors  at  a  time  when  the  principal  activities  of 
the  race  were  in  woods  and  deserts.  Given  the  right 
conditions  and  it  springs  to  renewed  life ;  and  we 
know  it  is  this  which  gives  to  life  its  best  savour,  and 
not  the  thousand  pleasures,  or  distractions  which 
civilised  dwellers  in  towns  have  invented  as  substitutes. 
Here  we  are  away  from  them — out  of  doors,  and  able 
to  shake  the  dust  of  such  artificialities  from  our  souls. 
In  such  moods,  in  these  green  shades,  we  are  ready  to 
echo  every  grateful  word  ever  spoken  of  those  who  for 
a  thousand  years  in  a  populous  and  industrial  country, 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       277 

the  workshop  of  the  world,  have  preserved  for  us  so 
much  of  Nature's  freshness.  Doubtless  they  did  it 
for  their  own  advantage  and  pleasure,  but  incidentally 
the  good  was  for  all. 

A  young  American  naturalist,  writing  to  me  some 
time  ago,  contrasted  the  state  of  things  with  regard 
to  the  preservation  of  wild  life  in  his  and  this  country. 
There,  he  said,  the  universal  rage  for  destroying  all 
the  noblest  and  most  interesting  species,  and  the  liberty 
possessed  by  every  man  and  boy  to  go  where  he  likes 
and  do  what  he  likes  in  utter  disregard  of  penal  laws, 
was  everywhere  producing  a  most  deplorable  effect. 
Whereas  in  this  happier  land,  the  great  entailed  estates 
of  our  old  county  families  and  aristocracy  were  like 
bulwarks  to  arrest  the  devastating  and  vulgarising 
forces,  and  had  served  to  preserve  our  native  fauna. 

He  spoke  without  sufficient  knowledge,  describing 
a  condition  of  things  which  existed  formerly,  even 
down  to  about  the  thirties  or  forties  of  the  inineteenth 
century.  Then  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  the 
landowner's  dreams ;  a  new  fashion  in  sport  had 
arisen,  and  from  that  time  onwards  those  who  had 
been,  indirectly,  the  preservers  of  our  country's  wild 
life  became  its  systematic  destroyers.  For  the  sake 
of  a  big  head  of  game,  a  big  shoot  in  November,  the 
birds  being  mainly  hand-reared  semi-domestic  phea- 
sants driven  to  the  guns,  they  decreed  the  complete 
extirpation  of  our  noblest  native  species  : 

The  birds,  great  Nature's  happy  commoners, 
That  haunt  in  woods : 


278         ADVENTURES   AMONG  BIRDS 

Raven  and  buzzard,  goshawk,  kite,  harrier-hawks, 
and  peregrine.  Besides  these,  a  score  of  species 
of  less  size  were  also  considered  detrimental  to 
the  interests  of  the  noble  poultry-killer.  Nor  is 
this  all.  Incidentally  the  keepers,  the  men  with 
guns  in  their  hands  who  patrol  the  woods,  have 
become  the  suppliers  to  the  dealer  and  private 
collectors  of  every  rare  and  beautiful  bird  they  can 
find  and  kill. 

But  I  wish  now  to  write  only  of  the  large  species 
named  above.  They  are  not  very  large — they  might 
almost  be  described  as  small  compared  with  many 
species  in  other  lands — but  they  were  the  largest  known 
throughout  the  greatest  portion  of  England  ;  they  were 
birds  that  haunt  in  woods,  and,  above  all,  they  were 
soaring  birds.  Seen  on  high  in  placid  flight,  circling 
and  ascending,  with  the  sunlight  falling  through  the 
translucent  feathers  of  their  broad  wings  and  tail,  they 
looked  large  indeed — large  as  eagles  and  cranes.  They 
were  a  feature  in  the  landscape  which  made  it  seem 
vaster  and  the  clouds  higher  and  the  sky  immeasurably 
farther  away.  They  were  something  more  :  the  sight 
of  them  and  the  sound  of  their  shrill  reiterated  cries 
completed  and  intensified  the  effect  of  Nature's  wild- 
ness  and  majesty. 

It  is  the  loss  of  these  soaring  species  which  spoils 
these  great  woods  for  me,  for  I  am  always  sadly  con- 
scious of  it  :  miles  on  miles  of  wood,  millions  of  ancient 
noble  trees,  a  haunt  of  little  dicky  birds  and  tame 
pheasants  bred  and  fed  for  the  autumn  shoot.  Also 


THE  TEMPLES  OF  THE  HILLS       279 

the  keeper  laying  his  traps  for  little  mousing  weasels, 
or  patiently  waiting  in  hiding  among  the  undergrowth 
to  send  a  charge  of  shot  through  a  rare  kestrel's  nest 
when  the  mother-bird  comes  back  to  feed  and  warm 
her  young. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AUTUMN,  1912 

WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA,  as  I  have  already  said  in  a 
chapter  a  long  way  back  in  this  volume,  is  one  of  the 
spots  I  love  best  to  frequent  in  the  autumn,  chiefly 
to  see  and  hear  the  wild  geese  that  winter  there  in 
larger  numbers  than  at  any  other  point  on  the  coast. 
This  season  of  1912  I  had  another  object  in  going 
thither ;  there  remained  two  or  three  weeks'  work 
to  be  done  in  order  to  complete  this  book  ;  and  where, 
flying  from  London,  could  one  find  a  place  more 
admirably  suited  for  such  a  purpose  ?  A  small, 
ancient,  village-like  town,  set  in  a  low  flat  land  next 
the  sea,  or  separated  from  the  sea  by  a  mile-wide 
marsh,  grey  in  summer,  but  now  rust-brown  in  its 
autumnal  colour.  The  fisher-folk  are  poor,  and  their 
harvest  consists  mainly  of  shellfish,  mussels,  whelks, 
clams,  and  they  also  dig  at  low  water  for  sand-worms 
to  be  sold  for  bait.  They  are,  as  I  think  I  remarked 
before,  like  their  feathered  fellow-creatures,  the  hooded 
crows ;  and  indeed  they  resemble  crows  when  seen, 
small  and  black,  scattered  far  out  on  the  wide  waste 
of  sand.  When  the  men  are  away  at  sea  and  those 
noisy  little  animals,  the  children,  are  shut  up  in  school, 
280 


AUTUMN,   1912  281 

you  can  imagine  that  there  is  no  longer  any  life  in  Wells ; 
you  would  not  be  in  a  quieter  place  on  the  wide  brown 
marsh  itself,  nor  on  the  low  grassy  sand-hills  faintly 
seen  in  the  distance,  nor  on  the  wide  stretch  of  sand 
beyond,  where  the  men,  crow-like,  are  seeking  their 
subsistence. 

To  Wells  I  accordingly  went  on  October  17,  yet 
was  no  sooner  in  this  ideal  spot  than  I  began  to  think 
it  was  the  last  place  where  I  could  do  any  work,  since 
even  the  noises  and  distractions  of  London  would  have 
a  less  disturbing  effect  than  that  low  murmur,  that 
familiar  yet  ever  strange  sound  of  the  old  old  sea,  that 
came  to  me  by  day  and  night,  and  the  wild  cries 
and  calls  of  passing  birds,  especially  the  cries  of  the 
geese. 

It  is  related  of  a  man  who  has  a  great  reputation  in 
his  day  which  is  now  ended,  that  he  was  once  taken 
to  task  by  a  friend  for  having  settled  himself  at  Wells. 
You,  his  friend  said,  with  your  love  of  mankind,  your 
noble  ideals,  your  many  talents,  and  especially  your 
eloquence  in  addressing  your  fellow  men — how  can 
you  endure  to  waste  your  years  in  this  dead-alive  little 
town  in  a  marsh  ? 

The  other  answered  that  it  was  because  Wells  was 
the  only  town  in  England  where,  sitting  at  ease  in  his 
study,  he  could  listen  to  the  cries  of  wild  geese. 

To  me,  just  a  naturalist,  these  same  cries  were  even 
more  than  to  that  famous  man  :  to  sit  still  and  do  any 
work  where  I  heard  them  was  the  difficulty.  Thus 
was  I  pulled  two  ways,  and  my  state  was  that  of  being 


282         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

in,  or  between,  "  two  minds."  My  wish  was  that 
these  same  two  minds  could  have  two  bodies  with  sets 
of  senses  complete,  so  that  each  might  be  able  to  follow 
its  own  line.  I  envied  the  chameleon  just  then — a 
strange  creature  which  is  said  to  change  its  colour  ac- 
cording to  its  surroundings.  That,  however,  is  merely 
a  physical  condition,  one  which  it  shares  with  certain 
other  creatures  without  any  mind  at  all,  or  in  which 
the  mind  is  dormant,  as,  for  example,  in  some  chrysalids. 
It  is  a  minor  mystery  ;  the  big  mystery  of  the  chame- 
leon, the  pretty  problem  for  the  students  of  animal 
psychology,  is  the  divisibility  of  its  mind,  the  faculty  of 
being  two  persons  in  one  body,  each  thinking  and 
acting  independently  of  the  other.  Observe  him  in 
a  domestic  state,  sitting  on  a  branch  in  a  room,  in 
appearance  a  deformed  lizard,  or  the  skeleton  of  one, 
encased  in  a  discoloured,  granulated  skin,  long  dried 
to  a  parchment.  The  most  remarkable  feature  is  the 
head,  which  reminds  one  of  a  grotesque  mediaeval 
carving  in  or  on  some  old  church,  of  a  toad-like  or 
fish-like  human  creature,  with  a  countenance  expressive 
of  some  ancient,  forgotten  kind  of  wisdom.  He  is 
absolutely  motionless,  dead  or  asleep  one  might 
imagine  ;  but  on  a  closer  scrutiny  you  discover  that 
he  is  not  only  awake  and  alive,  but  that  he  has  two 
lives  in  him — in  other  words,  that  the  two  hemispheres 
of  his  brain  are  working  separately,  each  occupied  with 
its  own  problem.  It  may  be  seen  in  his  eyes — minute 
round  lenses  mounted  on  swivels,  or  small  fleshy  or 
rubber  processes,  capable  of  being  elevated  or  de- 


AUTUMN,   1912  283 

pressed  and  pointed  in  this  or  that  direction  at  will. 
They  are  like  the  freely  moving  ears  of  a  horse,  but 
they  do  not  point  one  way,  since  each  one,  together 
with  the  half-brain  which  governs  it,  is  occupied  with 
looking  at  a  different  thing.  You  see,  for  instance, 
that  one  of  the  pair  is  now  aimed  like  a  spy-glass  at 
some  remote  object,  also  that  it  is  continually  moving, 
and  you  will  presently  discover  that  it  is  following  the 
erratic  movements  of  a  bluebottle,  wandering  about  the 
room.  This  is  not  an  idle  amusement  nor  mere  mental 
curiosity  on  the  chameleon's  part ;  he  knows  that  the 
fly  is  an  indefatigable  traveller  and  investigator  ;  that 
by-and-by,  when  he  has  finished  quartering  the  ceiling, 
running  up  and  down  the  walls  and  looking  at  the 
pictures,  he  will  turn  his  attention  to  the  furniture, 
piece  by  piece,  and  eventually  arrive  at  that  very  spot, 
that  stand  or  table  with  its  counterfeit  presentment 
of  a  branch,  and  upon  the  branch  the  strange  image 
of  a  monster,  perhaps  a  god,  of  stone  or  metal,  dug  up 
by  some  Flinders  Petrie  in  some  desert  city,  where  it 
has  been  lying  buried  in  sand  these  several  thousand 
years.  Truly  a  curious  and  interesting  object  for  an 
inquisitive  fly  to  look  at !  And  just  as  a  little  tourist 
will  place  himself  in  front  of  the  Sphinx  to  survey  its 
countenance  at  a  proper  distance  of  forty  or  fifty  yards, 
so  does  the  fly  settle  himself  before  the  face  of  the 
chameleon,  at  a  distance  of  six  or  eight  or  ten  inches. 
That  is  not  too  far  for  the  tongue,  which  is  as  long  as 
the  body  :  the  eye  on  a  swivel  has  never  lost  sight 
of  the  blue  wanderer  ;  it  is  fixed  on  him  even  now  ; 


284       ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  tongue  follows  like  lightning,  and  lo,  the  fly  has 
vanished,  and  will  buzz  and  look  blue  no  more ! 

Meanwhile,  the  same  chameleon,  on  the  other  side  of 
him,  has  fallen  into  a  doze,  or  reverie,  or  is  perchance 
philosophising,  the  eye  on  that  side  being  sunk  into  the 
skull.  One  could  say  that  he  is  lying  comfortably 
muffled  up  at  home,  lapped  in  rosy  dreams,  while  his 
fellow  chameleon,  the  other  half  of  him,  is  abroad 
hunting,  practising  all  his  subtle  strategy  to  capture  a 
shy  volatile  quarry.  Yet  at  any  moment  these  two, 
so  divided  in  mind  and  indifferent  to  each  other's 
doings  and  thinkings,  can  merge  into  one :  they 
literally  pull  themselves  together,  and  a  single  will 
takes  command  of  the  entire  body,  from  the  gargoyle 
head  to  the  prehensile  tail. 

I  can  laugh  now  at  the  plight  I  was  in  just  through 
not  being  made  like  a  chameleon  ;  but  it  wasn't  a 
laughing  matter  when  Conscience  pointed  sternly  to 
the  writing-table  and  at  the  same  time  a  persuasive 
voice  called  to  me  from  the  door  to  come  out, 
otherwise  I  should  miss  something  never  again  to 
be  seen.  No  hint  as  to  what  the  wonderful  thing 
was  to  be,  nor  when  nor  where  it  was  to  be  seen  : 
all  I  had  to  do  was  to  be  out  all  day,  patiently 
waiting  and  watching  ! 

The  wonder  is  that  when,  in  spite  of  conscience,  I 
got  away,  I  did  witness  some  things  which  were  actually 
worth  recording.  Thus,  one  day  while  sitting  by  the 
old  sea-ruined  coastguard  station  on  the  dunes,  between 
the  sea  and  the  marsh,  I  noticed  a  small,  unfamiliar 


AUTUMN,   1912  285 

bird,  robin-like  in  appearance,  but  darker  and  without 
the  red  waistcoat,  flitting  in  a  sprightly  manner  about 
the  old  crumbling  walls.  By-and-by  his  flittings  and 
little  dashes  after  passing  flies  brought  him  to  a  perch 
within  five  yards  of  me ;  and  sitting  there,  curiously 
eyeing  me,  droping  his  wings  and  flirting  a  broad  tail, 
he  stood  revealed — a  black  redstart !  A  happy  ex- 
perience :  in  all  that  empty  desolate  place  I  could  not 
have  met  with  a  more  engaging  stranger,  nor  one  more 
friendly.  For  he  is  first  cousin  to  our  pretty  firetail 
with  a  sweet  little  summer  song,  only  our  redstart  is 
a  shy  bird,  whereas  this  black  redstart  was  tamer  than 
any  robin.  I  took  it  that  he  was  resting  a  day  on  the 
dunes  after  his  perilous  flight  over  the  North  Sea, 
and  that  he  came  from  Holland,  where  he  is  common 
and  breeds  fearlessly  in  and  on  the  houses.  That  is 
why  he  was  so  confident,  also  why  he  eyed  me  so  curi- 
ously, for  he  knew  by  the  look  of  me  that  I  was  not  a 
Dutchman.  More  than  that  he  did  not  know,  and  he 
had  no  letter  tied  to  his  wing  ;  nevertheless,  he  had 
a  greeting  and  a  message  for  me  from  that  country  and 
that  people,  who,  among  the  nations  of  the  Continent, 
are  most  like  the  English  in  kindness  to  animals  as  well 
as  in  some  other  things,  but  are  better  than  we  are  in 
their  treatment  of  birds. 

On  another  day  I  stole  into  the  pine-wood  growing 
on  the  sandhills  by  the  sea,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  wood 
came  to  a  deep  basin-like  depression  in  the  sand,  and 
there  I  seated  myself  on  the  rim  or  margin  among  the 
long  grey  marram  grass,  with  the  dark  red  pillars  of 


286        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  pines  standing  all  about  me.  It  was  marvellously 
still  in  that  hidden  place  in  the  wood  ;  after  sitting 
there  for  half-an-hour,  listening  and  watching,  the 
thought  came  to  me  that  I  might  stay  there  half  a  day 
without  seeing  any  living  creature  or  hearing  any 
faintest  sound  of  life.  Yet  before  another  minute 
had  passed  something  living  flashed  into  sight,  the 
woodland  creature  that  is  most  alive — a  beautiful  red 
squirrel  with  an  exceptionally  big  bushy  tail.  He 
slided  swiftly  down  a  bole,  and  straightway  began  leap- 
ing, pirouetting,  and  dashing  hither  and  thither  about 
the  floor  of  the  basin,  not  twenty  yards  from  my  feet. 
As  I  sat  motionless  he  did  not  see  or  did  not  heed  me  : 
he  was  alone  in  the  wood,  and  was  like  the  solitary 
nightingale  that  asks  for  no  witness  to  his  song,  and 
played  his  glad,  mad  game  with  his  whole  soul.  Now 
with  feet  together  he  arched  his  body  like  a  stoat,  then 
flung  himself  out  full  length  and  dashed  round  in  a 
circle,  and  as  he  moved  there  was  an  undulating  motion, 
as  of  wave  following  wave  along  his  back  and  tail  which 
gave  him  a  serpentine  appearance.  On  coming  to 
a  thick  bed  of  pine  needles,  he  all  at  once  became 
motionless  and  spread  himself  out  on  the  ground  and 
looked  like  the  flattened  skin  of  a  squirrel,  with  the 
four  paws  visible  at  the  corners.  When  he  had  suffi- 
ciently enjoyed  the  sensation  of  pressing  on  the  pine 
needles  with  the  under  surface  of  his  body,  he  started 
up  to  continue  his  game,  until  he  suddenly  caught 
sight  of  a  large,  yellowish-white  agaric  growing  some 
yards  away,  and,  dashing  at  it,  he  tore  it  violently  from 


AUTUMN,   1912  287 

the  stalk  with  his  two  paws  and  began  devouring  it  as 
if  mad  with  hunger,  taking  huge  bites  and  working  his 
jaws  like  a  chaff-cutter. 

Sitting  upright  devouring  his  mushroom,  he  looked 
like  a  quaint  little  red  man  eating  a  round  piece  of 
bread-and-butter  twice  as  broad  as  himself.  Then 
suddenly,  after  a  few  more  bites,  he  dashed  the  mush- 
room to  the  ground  as  if  he  hated  the  taste  of  it,  and 
scampering  off  out  of  the  hollow,  vanished  from  sight 
among  the  trees. 

With  such  things  as  these  to  be  seen,  the  very  thought 
of  work  gave  me  a  sensation  of  weariness  and  disgust : 
to  sit  down  to  a  pile  of  old  note-books,  some  of  them 
more  than  a  year  old,  patiently  and  laboriously  to  sift 
out  two  or  three  observations  worth  recording  out  of 
every  hundred,  seemed  an  intolerable  burden,  and 
not  worth  the  candle.  Even  the  sight  of  a  black 
redstart  (with  greetings  from  Holland)  and  the  romps 
of  a  fantastic  squirrel  seemed  more  to  me  a  hundred 
times  than  the  sights  of  a  year  ago.  To  go  back  to 
such  stuff  was  to  leave  living,  breathing,  palpitating 
nature  to  finger  bundles  of  old  faded  photographs 
and  muse  on  dusty  memories.  Why  then  go  back  ? 
Why  indeed  !  Ah  !  how  easy  to  ask  that  question  ; 
how  often  we  ask  it  and  there  is  no  answer  but  the  old 
one  ;  because  of  the  eternal  desire  in  us,  which  must 
have  fretted  even  the  hearts  of  the  men  who  dwelt 
in  caves ;  to  reveal,  to  testify,  to  point  out  the  path 
to  a  new  enchanted  realm,  which  we  have  discovered  ; 
to  endeavour  to  convey  to  others  some  faint  sense  or 


288         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

suggestion  of  the  wonder  and  delight  which  may  be 
found  in  nature. 

We  say,  and  I  am  here  speaking  of  my  own  peculiar 
people,  the  naturalists,  that  birds  too,  like  ourselves, 
may  be  pulled  two  ways,  and  that  two  conflicting  im- 
pulses may  be  the  cause  of  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
of  Nature's  innumerable  little  annual  tragedies.  This 
is  when  a  pair  of  swallows  are  rearing  a  late  brood,  and 
before  the  time  comes  for  the  young  to  fly  are  them- 
selves overtaken  and  borne  away  to  the  south  by  the 
irresistible  migratory  instinct. 

It  happened  that  on  the  very  day  of  my  arrival  at 
Wells,  October  17,  I  noticed  a  pair  of  martins  still 
feeding  their  young  in  a  nest  under  the  eaves  above  a 
sweetstuff  shop,  within  two  or  three  doors  of  the 
Wells  post-office.  Now  I  shall  see  for  myself,  I  said, 
resolving  to  keep  an  eye  on  them.  There  were  no 
other  martins  or  swallows  of  any  kind  in  Wells  at  that 
date  :  a  fortnight  earlier  I  had  witnessed  the  end  of 
the  swallow  migration,  as  I  thought,  on  the  South 
Devon  sea-coast.  I  saw  them  morning  after  morning 
in  numbers,  travelling  along  the  coast  towards  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  which  is  one  of  their  great  crossing- 
places,  until  they  had  all  gone. 

I  kept  an  eye  on  the  martins,  visiting  them  very  early 
every  morning  and  two  or  three  times  later  during  each 
day.  The  young,  it  could  be  seen  when  they  thrust 
their  heads  and  almost  half  their  bodies  out  to  receive 
the  food  their  parents  brought,  were  fully  grown  and 
very  clamorous. 


AUTUMN,   1912  289 

"  They  will  be  out  in  a  day  or  two,"  I  said  con- 
fidently. The  people  of  the  house  informed  me  that 
this  same  nest  had  been  occupied,  off  and  on,  through- 
out the  summer  ;  and  if  we  take  it  that  eggs  were  laid 
at  the  beginning  of  May,  it  must  be  assumed  that  this 
pair  of  martins  had  been  occupied  almost  continuously 
with  the  breeding  business  for  six  months,  and  were 
now  rearing  their  third,  or  possibly  their  fourth  brood. 
A  long  period  when  we  consider  that  they  could  not 
have  had  a  worse  season  :  bad  everywhere  in  England, 
it  was  exceptionally  so  on  the  Norfolk  coast,  where  the 
winds  and  cold  were  most  felt  and  the  flooding  rains 
in  August  were  greatest. 

As  the  young  birds  did  not  come  out  during  the 
two  following  days,  I  began  to  look  for  their  abandon- 
ment, whereupon  the  women  of  the  house  com- 
passionately offered  to  take  them  in  and  feed  them,  in 
the  hope  of  keeping  them  alive  until  the  return  of  warm 
weather,  when  they  would  be  liberated.  From  that 
time  onwards  they  and  others  in  the  town  who  had 
begun  to  take  an  interest  in  the  birds  helped  me  to 
keep  a  watch  on  the  nest.  Assuredly  the  young  would 
be  abandoned  and  that  very  shortly;  the  weather 
was  rough  and  cold,  food  becoming  scarcer  each  day ; 
and  for  a  month  or  six  weeks  the  impulse  to  fly  south, 
the  "  mighty  breath,  which  in  a  powerful  language, 
felt  not  heard,  instructs  the  fowls  of  heaven,"  must 
have  been  worrying  the  brains  of  those  two  overworked 
little  martins. 

But  again  the  expected  did  not  happen  ;  the  parents 


290        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

did  not  forsake  their  young,  and  on  two  occasions,  one 
on  October  25,  the  other  five  days  later,  they  tried  their 
best  to  get  the  young  out.  They  came  to  the  nest 
with  flies  a  dozen  times  a  minute,  and  instead  of 
delivering  the  food  into  the  open  mouths,  they 
would  flutter  a  moment  with  beaks  just  out  of  reach, 
then  drop  off  to  circle  round  and  repeat  the  action. 
All  these  enticing  arts  were  of  no  avail ;  the 
young  had  not  the  strength  or  spirit  to  launch 
themselves  on  the  air,  otherwise  they  would  have 
been  saved. 

On  the  following  day,  October  31,  the  weather  was 
exceptionally  bad ;  it  was  cold,  with  a  strong  wind, 
and  rained  heavily  all  day  :  the  call  of  the  young  now 
sounded  feebler  from  the  nest,  and  the  eager  little 
black,  flat  heads  and  white  throats  were  no  longer  thrust 
out.  Yet  the  old  birds  still  laboured  faithfully  to  find 
them  food,  only  on  this  last  day  they  did  not  go  far  in 
search  of  provender.  They  were  too  anxious,  or  in 
some  way  conscious,  of  the  failing  strength  of  the 
young;  they  hawked  after  scarce  flies  up  and  down 
the  street,  always  near  the  nest,  constantly  giving 
themselves  that  quick  little  shake  by  means  of  which 
the  swallow  throws  the  rain  off  his  feathers.  There 
was  another  noticeable  change  in  them  :  at  intervals 
of  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  one  or  both  of  the  birds 
would  fly  into  the  nest  and  remain  there  for  a  space 
of  three  or  four  minutes,  doubtless  to  warm  the  young. 
At  all  events,  I  don't  think  it  was  merely  to  rest  them- 
selves, as  on  previous  days  I  noticed  that  when  they 


AUTUMN,   1912  291 

wanted  to  rest  they  would  fly  into  one  of  the  empty 
martins'  nests  close  to  their  own. 

That  last  day  came  to  an  early  end,  as  it  began  to 
get  dark  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  old  birds  settled  down 
with  their  young  for  the  night. 

The  following  morning,  although  somewhat  chilly, 
was  more  like  April  than  November,  with  a  light 
wind,  a  crystal  clear  sky,  and  a  sunshine  with  a  magic 
in  it  to  enliven  the  world  and  give  renewed  life  even 
to  the  perishing.  The  old  birds  had  vanished  and  no 
faintest  sound  came  from  the  nest.  I  waited  some 
hours,  then  procured  a  ladder  and  took  the  nest  down, 
and  found  two  full-grown  dead  young  martins  in  it. 
One  had  died  that  morning,  probably  at  two  or  three 
o'clock,  before  the  turning  of  the  tide  of  life ;  the 
other  looked  as  if  it  had  died  about  two  days  before. 

This  is  but  one  case  and  it  happens  to  be  the  only 
one  of  an  exceptionally  late  brood  which  I  have  had 
an  opportunity  of  observing  closely,  yet  to  me  it  does 
suggest  the  idea  that  we  may  be  mistaken  after  all  in 
our  belief  that  the  migratory  impulse  or  passion  will 
cause  the  swallow  to  forsake  its  late-hatched  offspring, 
leaving  them  to  perish  of  starvation  in  the  nest.  More 
observation  is  wanted,  but  the  case  described  inclines 
me  to  think  that  so  long  as  the  young  continue  alive 
and  able  to  emit  their  hunger  cry,  the  parental  instinc  t 
in  the  old  birds  remains  dominant  and  holds  the 
migratory  impulse  in  check  or  in  abeyance  ;  that  only 
when  the  insistent  cry  ceases  and  the  young  birds 
grow  cold  the  release  comes  and  the  "  mighty  breath  " 


292         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

blows  upon  and  bears  them  away  southward  irresisting 
as  a  ball  of  thistledown  carried  by  the  air. 

I  see  that  Dixon,  in  his  Migration  of  Birds  (1897), 
page  112,  says  that  he  knew  of  a  case  in  which  a  pair  of 
barn  swallows  abandoned  their  young  in  the  early 
days  of  November  when  they  were  almost  able  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  whether  in  or  out  of  the  nest  he 
does  not  say.  Nor  does  he  state  that  the  case  came 
directly  under  his  own  observation  ;  if  the  young  were 
in  the  nest  it  may  be  they  were  dead  before  the  parent 
birds  set  out  on  their  journey.  It  is  possible  that 
such  cases  do  occur  from  time  to  time  and  have  been 
observed,  yet  they  may  be  exceptional  cases.  We  know 
that  a  few  swallows  do  linger  on  with  us  into  the  depth 
of  winter  each  year  ;  that  they  become  torpid  with 
cold,  and  that  occasionally  one  does  survive  until  the 
following  spring.  These  rare  instances  gave  rise  to  the 
belief  that  swallows  hibernate  regularly,  which  was 
held  by  serious  naturalists  down  to  the  early  nineteenth 
century  :  but  we  now  know  that  these  cases  of  torpid 
birds  are  rare  exceptions  to  the  rule  that  the  swallow 
migrates  each  autumn  to  Africa. 

While  I  was  keeping  watch  on  the  martins  when  the 
fate  of  the  young  was  still  hanging  in  the  balance,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  talk  on  the  case  among  my  old 
fishermen  and  wild-fowling  friends,  and  about  swallows 
generally.  One  man  told  me  that  last  winter  (1911) 
he  was  at  the  neighbouring  village  of  Warham,  one 
bright  sunny  day  about  the  middle  of  December,  and 
saw  five  or  six  swallows  at  a  pond  there  flying  about  in 


AUTUMN,   1912  293 

a  slow  feeble  manner  over  the  water.    They  perched 
frequently  on  a  small  bramble  bush  growing  by  the 
pond  and  were  so  tame  or  stupefied  by  the  cold  that 
he  actually  attempted  to  take  one  in  his  hand.     He 
thought  it  was  an  extraordinary  thing,  but  there  is 
no  doubt  that  a  few  swallows  are  seen  every  year  up  to 
mid-winter    somewhere    in    England    although    their 
appearance  is  not  recorded  ;  also  that  these  birds  have 
been  lying  up  in  a  torpid  condition  until  a  bright 
warm  day  revived  and  brought  them  out.     Few  of 
these  stay-at-home  swallows  can  survive  to  the  spring. 
Another  curious  incident  was  related  by  another 
man,  a  very  old  wild-fowler  of   the  place.     He  said 
that  when  he  was  a  young  man  living  in  his  home, 
a  small  hamlet  near  Wroxham  Broad,  a  number  of 
martins  bred  every  year  on  his  cottage.     They  thought 
a  great  deal  of  their  martins  and  were  proud  to  have 
them  there  and  every  spring  he  used  to  put  up  a  board 
over  the  door  to  prevent  the  entrance  from  being 
messed  by  the  birds.     One  spring  a  pair  of  martins 
made  their  nest  just  above  the  door  and  had  no  sooner 
completed  it  than  a  pair  of  sparrows  stepped  in  and 
took  possession  and  at  once  began  to  lay  eggs.     The 
martins  made  no  fight  at  all,  but  did  not  go  away ; 
they  started  making  a  fresh  nest  as  close  up  as  they 
could   against    the   old    one.     The   entrance    to   the 
new  nest  was  made  to  look  the  same  way  as  in  the 
first,   so    that    the   back   part   was   built  up   against 
the  front  of  the  other.      It  was  quickly  made  and 
when  completed  quite  blocked  up  the  entrance  of 


294        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  old  nest.  The  sparrows  had  disappeared ;  he 
wondered  why  after  taking  a  nest  that  didn't  belong 
to  them  they  had  allowed  themselves  to  be  pushed 
out  in  this  way.  At  the  end  of  the  season,  after  the 
departure  of  the  martins,  he  got  up  to  remove  the 
board  and  the  double  nest  looked  so  curious  he 
thought  he  would  take  this  down  too  and  examine 
it.  On  breaking  the  closed  nest  open  he  was  astonished 
to  find  the  hen  sparrow  in  it,  a  feathered  skeleton 
still  sitting  on  four  eggs ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
WILD  WINGS  :    A  FAREWELL 

MY  anxious  interest  in  the  swallows  did  not  keep  me 
from  seeing  and  hearing  the  geese.  They  had  arrived 
as  usual  "  in  their  thousands " ;  the  wild-fowlers 
said  they  had  never  seen  them  in  greater  numbers  than 
this  autumn.  One  reason  for  this  was  supposed  to  be 
the  unusual  abundance  of  food  on  the  farmlands, 
where  a  great  deal  of  the  corn  had  remained  on  the 
ground  on  account  of  the  floods  in  August  and  Sep- 
tember. The  farmer's  loss  was  pure  gain  to  the  wild 
geese.  The  birds  shot  during  my  stay  were  fat  and 
their  crops  full  of  corn ;  certainly  they  appeared 
happy ;  and  when  they  passed  over  the  town  with 
resounding  cackle  and  scream  one  could  imagine  they 
were  laughing  in  the  sky  :  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  it  is  a  jolly 
life  in  spite  of  you  wingless,  wicked  wild-fowlers,  so 
long  as  we  remember  when  flying  to  and  from  the  sea 
to  keep  out  of  range  of  your  hateful  old  guns !  They 
didn't  always  remember,  and  a  goose  was  a  great  prize 
when  one  fell  to  the  gun  of  one  of  these  very  poor  men  ; 
but  when  they  sent  me  round  a  bird  just  to  see  what 
a  fine  bird  old  So-and-so  had  got,  and  "  would  I 
give  him  half-a-crown  for  it  ?  "  I  could  only  reply 
295 


296        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

that  it  was  indeed  a  fine  bird,  and  I  congratulated  my 
old  friend  on  his  luck,  but  I  wasn't  buying  a  goose. 
I  can  eat  sheep  and  pig  and  some  other  beasts,  always 
excepting  cow  ;  also  fowl,  pheasant,  and  various  other 
birds,  wild  and  tame  ;  but  I  draw  the  line  at  wild  geese. 
I  would  as  soon  eat  a  lark,  or  a  quail,  or  a  nice  plump 
young  individual  of  my  own  species  as  this  wise  and 
noble  bird. 

The  cries  of  the  geese  going  inland  to  their  happy 
feeding-grounds  would  come  to  me  in  my  room  before 
I  was  up  in  the  morning,  and  again  the  same  exhilarat- 
ing sound  was  heard  in  the  evening  just  after  sunset, 
causing  the  women  and  children  to  run  out  of  their 
cottages  to  see  and  listen  to  the  passing  birds.  At 
that  hour  I  was  usually  a  mile  or  so  out  on  the  marsh 
or  by  the  sea  to  have  a  good  view  of  the  geese  as  they 
came  over.  On  some  evenings  they  disappointed  me, 
but  there  were  always  other  birds  to  look  at  and  enjoy, 
the  chief  among  these  being  the  hooded  crow.  He 
was  a  few  days  later  than  usual  this  year,  but  during 
the  last  ten  or  twelve  days  of  October  came  in  steadily, 
arriving,  as  a  rule,  in  the  morning,  until  he  was  as 
numerous  as  ever  all  along  the  coast.  The  best  time 
to  see  these  birds  is  in  the  evening,  when  they  have 
been  feeding  all  day  on  the  marshes,  and  are  as  full  of 
small  crabs  and  carrion  cast  up  by  the  sea  as  the  geese 
are  of  corn,  and  when  they  have  an  hour  before  going 
to  roost  to  spend  in  play. 

One  evening  I  was  greatly  entertained  by  their 
performance,  when  the  tide  was  out,  leaving  a  wide 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL        297 

stretch  of  mud  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  or  small 
estuary  which  serves  Wells  as  harbour  ;  and  here  some 
sixty  or  seventy  birds  had  gathered  to  amuse  them- 
selves before  going  to  roost.    Here  would  be  a  bird 
looking  for  something  to  eat,  and  when  he  found  a 
small  crab  or  other  morsel  he  would  make  a  great  to-do 
about  it,  and  hold  it  up  as  a  challenge  to  others ;  then 
his  next  neighbour  would  set  upon  him  and  there 
would  be  a  sham-fight,  and  the  crab  would  be  captured 
and  carried  triumphantly  away,  only  to  be  used  as  a 
challenge  to  others.     This  was  but  one  of   a   dozen 
different  forms  of  play  they  were  indulging  in,  and 
while  this  play  on  the  ground  went  on,  at  intervals  of 
a  few  seconds  a  bird  would  shoot  straight  up  into  the 
air  to  a  height  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet,  then,  turning 
over,  tumble  straight  down  to  the  ground  again.     To 
drop  vertically  down  seemed  to  be  the  aim  of  every 
bird,  but  with  a  wind  blowing  they  found  it  a  some- 
what  difficult  feat,   and   would  wriggle  and   flutter 
and  twist  their  wings  about  in  various  ways  to  save 
themselves  from  being  blown  to  one  side.    At  longer 
intervals  a  bird  would  shoot  up  to  a  height  of  forty 
to  sixty  feet,  going  up  in  a  much  easier  way  than  the 
others,  with  a  stronger  flight  and  falling  more  skilfully, 
almost  like  a  stone.     So  great  was  the  difference  be- 
tween this  display  and  that  of  the  generality  that  these 
birds  were  like  old  practised  hands  or  professionals  at 
the  game,  and  the  others  mere  amateurs  or  beginners. 
On  describing  what  I  had  witnessed  to  an  old  fisher- 
man and  fowler,  he  said,  "  I've  watched  them  playing 


298        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

like  that  many  and  many  a  time,  and  have  thought 
to  myself,  they're  just  like  a  lot  o'  children." 

I  doubt  if  any  one  who  has  observed  birds  in  com- 
pany closely,  especially  when  they  have  come  together, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  hooded  crows,  just  for  recreation 
has  not  occasionally  had  this  same  thought — just  like 
a  lot  of  little  children  ! 

It  is,  as  I  remarked  in  the  chapter  on  the  marsh 
warbler,  a  delightful  experience  to  a  field  naturalist 
to  sit  at  ease,  binocular  in  hand,  at  a  proper  distance 
from  a  company  of  birds  and  watch  them  at  their  little 
games.  The  right  distance  varies  according  to  the 
species  and  the  nature  of  the  ground  ;  it  should  always 
be  outside  the  danger  limit,  so  that  if  they  see  the 
spectator  they  do  not  heed  him  and  are  practically 
unconscious  of  his  presence.  Whatever  that  distance 
may  be  a  nine  to  twelve  prismatic  glass  will  bring 
them  within  a  dozen  yards  of  his  vision. 

This  delight  was  mine  almost  every  day  at  the 
spots  where  the  birds  were  accustomed  to  congregate 
on  the  meadows  and  by  the  sea.  I  could  watch  them 
by  the  hour  and  was  never  disappointed,  even  when 
there  was  nothing  particular  to  see,  or  at  all  events 
nothing  worth  noting  down.  The  more  the  species  in 
a  gathering  the  greater  the  interest  one  takes  in  watch- 
ing them,  on  account  of  the  marked  difference  in  dis- 
position they  exhibit ;  but,  speaking  of  the  bird-life 
of  the  meadows  and  shore,  they  have  this  in  common, 
that  they  all  appear  to  take  a  certain  pleasure  in  each 
other's  company.  I  notice,  for  instance,  that  if  a  pair 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL         299 

of  peewits  are  in  a  meadow  and  a  flock  of  starlings  ap- 
pear, after  wheeling  about  as  if  undecided  for  a  few 
moments,  they  almost  invariably  drop  down  where  the 
peewits  are  and  feed  in  their  company.  If  rooks  or 
fieldfares  come  they  too  join  the  others.  Even  where 
there  are  only  large  birds  on  the  spot,  geese  or  shel- 
drakes for  example,  any  small  birds  that  come  to  the 
place,  starlings,  thrushes,  larks,  will  alight  among  or 
alongside  of  them.  They  will  appear  to  know  each 
other,  and  if  no  relations  they  are  friends  and  in- 
timates— geese,  ducks,  rooks,  daws,  crows,  peewits, 
thrushes  of  all  kinds,  larks,  pipits,  and  wagtails ;  also 
curlews,  redshanks  and  other  small  shore  birds  during 
the  intervals  when  they  leave  the  sea.  On  these 
meadows  herons  and  gulls  are  also  included  in  the 
company.  You  cannot  watch  one  of  these  gatherings 
for  long  without  witnessing  many  little  incidents  that 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business  in  hand — the 
search  for  small  seeds  hidden  on  the  surface  and 
for  grubs  beneath  it  lying  among  the  fibrous  roots 
of  grass.  It  is  an  important  matter,  and  it  takes  a  long 
time  to  get  a  satisfactory  meal  when  each  morsel  or 
half-mouthful  has  to  be  searched  for  in  a  separate 
place  ;  but  it  does  not  take  up  their  whole  attention  ; 
there  is  always  some  sort  of  byplay  going  on,  en- 
counters friendly  or  hostile  between  two  birds,  mis- 
chievous pranks  and  ebullitions  of  fun.  The  playful 
spirit  is  universal  among  them ;  even  the  solemn 
gaunt  heron,  that  stick  of  a  bird,  is  capable  of  it ;  I  was 
delighted  one  day  to  witness  three  of  these  birds  that 


3oo        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

formed  part  of  a  big  promiscuous  gathering  all  at 
once  break  out  in  a  wild  game  of  romps.  A  heron 
at  play  differs  from  all  other  birds  in  its  awkward 
ungraceful  motions  and  when  running  about  appears 
hardly  able  to  keep  its  balance. 

The  heron's  moments  of  abandonment  are  rare  and 
he  is  rusty  in  consequence  :  the  small  shore  birds 
on  the  contrary  relax  often  and  are  as  easy  and  graceful 
at  play  as  any  bird.  One  day  when  sitting  on  Wells 
bank  I  had  only  two  birds  in  sight,  two  ringed  dotterels, 
one  quietly  feeding  on  the  mud  flat  directly  beneath 
me,  the  second  bird  running  along  the  margin  of  the 
water  forty  or  fifty  yards  away.  By-and-by  this  one 
rose  and  came  flying  to  his  companion,  but  instead  of 
alighting  near  him  as  I  expected  him  to  do  he  paused 
in  the  air  and  hovered  for  three  or  four  seconds  directly 
over  him,  at  a  height  of  a  couple  of  feet,  then  dropped 
plump  down  upon  his  back,  almost  throwing  him  to 
the  ground  with  the  impact,  after  which  he  folded 
his  wings  and  stood  quietly  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
The  other  bird,  recovering  from  the  sudden  shock, 
threw  himself  into  a  belligerent  attitude,  lowering  his 
beak  and  aiming  it  like  a  fighting  ruff  at  his  comrade, 
his  whole  plumage  raised  and  his  wings  and  tail 
feathers  open ;  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  inflict  any 
punishment ;  after  all  that  show  of  resentment  at  the 
insult  he  contented  himself  by  pouring  out  a  series  of 
prolonged  sharp  scolding  notes.  These  ended,  the 
two  birds  started  quietly  feeding  together. 

In    the   promiscuous   gatherings,    one   cannot   but 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL         301 

observe  that  although  they  all  meet  and  mix  in  an 
easy  friendly  manner  there  is  yet  a  great  difference  in 
their  dispositions  and  in  their  ideas  about  fun  if  it  be 
permissible  to  put  it  in  that  way.  In  some  of  the 
most  social  species,  small  shore  birds,  starlings  and 
rooks,  for  instance,  their  games  are  mostly  among 
themselves  and  are  quite  harmless  although  there 
is  often  a  pretence  of  anger.  That  is  part  of  the  game 
just  as  it  is  with  kittens  and  with  children.  The  gulls 
mix  but  do  not  affiliate  with  the  others  and  play  no 
tricks  on  their  neighbours,  like  the  crow,  just  for 
mischief's  sake.  They  want  something  more  substantial. 
They  must  have  it  out  of  some  one  and  it  is  usually 
the  peewit.  He,  the  gull,  flies  about  in  a  somewhat 
aimless  way,  then  drops  down  among  them  to  rest  on 
the  turf  or  walks  about  curiously  inspecting  the  grass, 
perhaps  wondering  what  the  mysterious  sense  or 
faculty  of  the  rook  and  starling  is  by  means  of  which 
they  know  just  which  individual  grass  among  a  hundred 
grasses  contains  a  grub  in  its  roots — a  fat  morsel  which 
may  be  unearthed  by  a  thrust  of  the  beak.  The  grass 
tells  him  nothing  and  in  the  end  he  finds  it  more 
profitable  to  watch  the  other  probers  at  work.  He 
sidles  up  in  a  casual  manner  to  the  peewit  pretending 
all  the  time  to  be  honestly  seeking  for  something  himself 
but  watching  the  other's  motions  very  keenly  to  be 
ready  at  the  prime  moment  when  a  grub  is  being 
pulled  out  to  make  a  dash  for  it. 

There  was  another  bird  who  took  no  part  at  all 
in  the  work  and  play  of  the  others — a  kestrel  who  made 


302        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

the  meadows  his  daily  hunting-ground.  What  he 
was  finding  I  could  not  discover  as  I  never  saw  him 
lift  a  vole  and  it  was  too  late  for  insects.  Anyhow, 
he  was  often  there  and  the  other  birds  took  not  the 
slightest  notice  of  him ;  even  the  smallest  in  the 
company,  the  larks,  pipits,  and  wagtails,  knew  him  for 
a  harmless  person.  But  one  day  while  he  was  flying 
about  hovering  at  intervals  and  dropping  to  the  earth, 
a  flock  of  about  fifty  starlings  came  flying  to  the  mea- 
dow and  after  circling  round  as  if  just  going  to  alight 
they  all  at  once  appeared  to  change  their  minds — or 
mind — and  mounting  up  again  until  they  were  about 
twenty  yards  above  the  kestrel,  began  following  his 
movements,  and  when  he  hovered  six  or  seven  birds 
detached  themselves  from  the  flock  and  dropped  like 
stones  upon  his  back.  He  struck  them  angrily  off  and 
flying  a  little  distance  away  began  searching  again  ;  but 
they  followed  and  no  sooner  did  he  hover  than  down 
again  came  half  a  dozen  starlings  on  to  his  back. 

After  this  annoyance  had  been  repeated  five  or 
six  times  he  flew  away  to  another  part  of  the  meadow 
and  resumed  his  hunting  there.  Again  the  starlings 
followed  and  repeated  the  former  action  each  time  he 
hovered,  until  in  anger  and  disgust  he  flew  away  out  of 
sight  while  the  starlings,  their  object  gained,  dropped 
down  to  the  meadow  and  started  feeding.  The  action 
may  have  been  inspired  by  a  love  of  fun  or  a  spirit 
of  mischief  complicated  with  a  sense  of  irritation  at 
the  sight  of  a  bird  who  was  not  of  their  society,  whose 
ways  were  not  their  ways — a  feeling  akin  to  that  which 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL         303 

occasionally  prompts  a  person  of  a  primitive  order  of 
mind  to  heave  half  a  brick  at  a  stranger.  The  feeling 
is  quite  common  among  birds,  only  the  heaving  process 
is  performed  with  such  a  precision  and  so  gracefully 
that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  witness  it. 

In  marked  contrast  with  this  spiteful  behaviour  was 
another  act  of  a  flock  of  starlings  I  witnessed  at  the 
same  spot,  showing  the  different  feelings  entertained 
towards  a  stranger  like  the  kestrel  and  a  comrade  of  the 
feeding  ground — a  wild  goose.  A  small  gaggle  or 
company  of  a  dozen  or  fourteen  geese  came  flying  from 
the  sea  across  the  meadows  on  their  way  inland  to  the 
feeding  ground,  and  at  the  same  time  a  flock  of  about  a 
hundred  starlings,  travelling  at  a  much  greater  height 
than  the  geese,  came  flying  by,  their  course  crossing  that 
of  the  geese  at  right  angles.  Just  as  the  flocks  crossed 
about  thirty  starlings  detached  themselves  from  the 
flock  and  dropping  straight  down  joined  the  geese. 
They  did  not  merely  place  themselves  alongside  of  the 
big  birds ;  they  mixed  and  went  away  among  them, 
accommodating  their  flight  to  that  of  the  geese.  Yet 
they  must  have  been  uncomfortably  placed  among  such 
big  and  powerful  birds  fanned  by  their  wings  and 
in  some  peril  of  being  struck  with  the  long  hard  flight 
feathers.  With  my  binocular  on  the  flock  I  watched 
them  until  they  gradually  faded  from  sight  in  the 
sky,  the  starlings  still  keeping  with  them. 

What  could  have  moved  these  thirty  birds  out  of  a 
flock  of  a  hundred  to  act  in  this  way  ?  Perhaps  they 
were  "  just  like  little  children  "  and  had  said  to  each 


304         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

other,  "Come,  let's  play  at  being  geese  and  march 
solemnly  to  the  sound  of  screaming  and  cackling  to  the 
distant  farm  lands  where  we'll  stuff  our  crops  with 
clover  and  spilt  wheat ;  and  while  some  of  us  are  feed- 
ing others  will  keep  watch,  so  that  no  crafty  gunner, 
hiding  his  approach  behind  an  old  grazing  plough- 
horse,  shall  get  within  shot  of  us." 

One  becomes  so  imbued  with  the  notion  of  unity 
of  mind  in  a  flock  of  starlings — the  idea  that  the  whole 
crowd  must  act  with  and  follow  the  leader,  if  leader 
there  be — that  one  always  wants  to  know  why  there 
is  any  divergence  at  all,  as  when  a  flock  divides  and 
goes  off  in  different  directions.  Thus,  from  a  flock 
proceeding  steadily  in  a  certain  direction  some  of  the 
birds,  half  the  flock  it  may  be,  will  suddenly  drop  down 
to  settle  on  a  tree-top,  leaving  the  others  to  go  on ;  or 
in  passing  over  a  field  where  sheep  are  grazing  a  certain 
number  of  the  birds  will  come  down  to  feed  among 
them.  In  the  first  case,  the  sight  of  the  tree-top 
below  has  probably  suggested  the  need  for  rest  to  a 
single  bird ;  the  impulse  is  instantly  acted  on  and  a 
certain  number  of  the  birds  are  carried  away  by  the 
example  and  follow,  while  in  the  others  the  original 
motive  or  impulse  which  sent  them  off  to  travel  to 
some  more  distant  place  remains  unaffected  and  they 
keep  steadily  on  their  way.  In  like  manner,  in  the 
other  case,  the  scene  below  tells  sharply  on  some  one 
bird  in  the  flock  ;  hunger  is  created  by  suggestion  ;  the 
sight  of  feeding  sheep  scattered  about  in  the  moist 
green  earth  is  associated  in  his  starling  mind  with  the 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL         305 

act  of  satisfying  his  want,  and  down  to  the  sheep  he 
accordingly  goes  and  carries  some  of  the  others  with 
him. 

The  action  of  the  starlings  going  off  with  the  geese 
may  perhaps  be  accounted  for  in  the  same  way.  An 
impulse  due  to  an  associate  feeling  caused  those  thirty 
birds  to  break  away  from  the  flock.  These  starlings 
were  probably  migrants  from  the  north  of  Europe 
and  were  intimate  with  geese  :  they  had  perhaps  even 
travelled  with  the  geese  over  lands  already  whitened 
with  snow  and  over  the  sea  ;  they  had  also  probably 
fed  with  the  geese  in  green  meadows  and  fields  where 
both  birds  find  their  food  in  abundance.  The  sight 
of  the  flying  geese  became  associated  in  their  minds 
with  some  such  past  experience  and  they  were  instantly 
carried  away  by  an  impulse  to  join  and  fly  with  them, 
but  only  some  thirty  of  the  flock,  the  other  seventy 
remaining  unaffected  or  uninfected  by  the  example. 

My  best  evening  was  on  October  29,  for  at  the  close 
of  that  day  the  sky  cleared  and  the  geese  returned  not  in 
detachments,  but  all  together  a  little  earlier  than  usual. 
I  was  out  on  the  marsh  towards  Blakeney,  a  mile  and 
a  half  or  so  from  Wells,  when,  about  half  an  hour 
before  sunset,  a  solitary  goose  came  flying  by  me  towards 
the  sea,  keeping  only  a  foot  or  two  above  the  ground. 
It  was  a  wounded  bird,  shot  somewhere  on  its  feeding- 
ground,  and,  being  unable  to  keep  with  the  flock,  was 
travelling  slowly  and  painfully  to  the  roosting-place 
on  the  sands.  When  it  had  got  about  a  couple  of  hun- 

20 


306        ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

dred  yards  past  me  a  few  redshanks  rose  from  the 
edge  of  the  creek  and,  after  wheeling  round  once  or 
twice,  dropped  down  again  in  the  same  place,  and  no 
sooner  had  they  alighted  than  the  goose  turned  aside 
from  his  course  and,  flying  straight  to  them,  pitched 
on  the  ground  at  their  side.  That  is  just  how  a  bird 
of  social  disposition  will  always  act  when  forsaken  by 
his  fellows  and  in  distress :  it  will  try  to  get  with 
others,  however  unlike  its  own  species  they  may  be — 
even  a  goose  with  redshanks ;  and  this,  too,  in  a  most 
dangerous  place  for  a  goose  to  delay  in,  where  gunners 
are  accustomed  to  hide  in  the  creeks.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  ill  at  ease  and  troubled  at  my  presence,  as 
after  alighting  he  continued  standing  erect  with  head 
towards  me.  There  he  remained  with  the  red- 
shanks for  full  fifteen  minutes,  but  he  had  not  been 
more  than  two  minutes  on  the  spot  before  a  passing 
hooded  crow  dropped  down  close  to  and  began  walking 
round  him.  The  crow  will  not  attack  a  wounded 
goose,  even  when  badly  wounded,  but  he  knows 
when  a  bird  is  in  trouble  and  he  must  satisfy  his  in- 
quisitive nature  by  looking  closely  at  him  to  find  out 
how  bad  he  really  is.  The  goose,  too,  knows  exactly 
what  the  crow's  life  and  mind  is,  and  no  doubt  de- 
spises him.  I  watched  them  intently,  and  every  time 
the  crow  came  within  a  couple  of  feet  of  him  the  goose 
bent  down  and  shot  out  his  snake-like  head  and  neck 
at  him.  If  my  binocular  had  been  able  to  catch  the 
sound  as  well  as  the  sight,  it  would  have  conveyed  to 
me,  too,  the  angry  snake-like  hiss  which  accompanied 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL         307 

the  threatening  gesture.  And  each  time  this  gesture 
was  made  the  crow  hopped  away  a  little  space,  only  to 
begin  walking  and  hopping  round  the  goose  again  until 
he  had  satisfied  his  impudent  curiosity,  whereupon  he 
flew  off  towards  his  roosting-place. 

Then,  after  a  few  minutes,  from  a  great  way  off  in  the 
sky  came  the  sounds  of  approaching  geese,  and  the 
wounded  bird  turned  his  breast  towards  the  land  and 
stood  with  head  held  high  to  listen  to  and  see  his 
fellows  returning  uninjured  with  crops  full  of  corn, 
boisterous  in  their  happiness,  to  the  roosting-place. 
The  sound  grew  louder,  and  presently  the  birds  ap- 
peared, not  in  a  compact  body,  but  in  three  single 
lines  or  skeins  of  immense  length,  while  between  these 
widely  separated  lines  were  many  groups  or  gaggles  of  a 
dozen  to  forty  or  fifty  birds  arranged  in  phalanx  form. 

I  had  been  witnessing  this  evening  return  of  the  geese 
for  a  fortnight,  but  never,  as  now,  united  in  one  vast 
flock,  numbering  at  the  least  four  thousand  birds,  the 
skeins  extending  over  the  sky  for  a  length  of  about  a 
third  of  a  mile.  Nor  had  the  conditions  ever  been  so 
favourable  ;  the  evenings  had  been  clouded  and  it  was 
often  growing  dark  when  they  appeared.  On  this 
occasion  the  heavens  were  without  a  cloud  or  stain  and 
the  sun  still  above  the  horizon.  I  could  see  it  from 
the  flat  marsh  like  a  great  crimson  globe  hanging  just 
above  the  low,  black  roofs  of  Wells,  with  the  square 
church  tower  in  the  middle.  The  whole  vast  aerial 
army  streamed  by  directly  over  me  and  over  their 
wounded  fellow  below,  still  standing  statuesque  and 


308         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

conspicuous  on  the  brown,  level  marsh.  In  two  or 
three  minutes  more  the  leading  birds  were  directly 
above  the  roosting-place  on  the  flat  sands,  and  at  this 
point  they  paused  and  remained  stationary  in  mid-air, 
or  slowly  circled  round,  still  keeping  at  the  same 
height ;  and  as  others  and  still  others  joined  them, 
the  whole  formation  was  gradually  broken  up,  skeins 
and  phalanxes  becoming  merged  in  one  vast  cloud  of 
geese,  circling  round  like  a  cloud  of  gulls.  Then  the 
descent  began,  a  few  at  a  time  detaching  themselves 
from  the  throng  and  sweeping  obliquely  downwards, 
while  others,  singly  or  in  small  parties,  with  half- 
closed  wings  appeared  to  hurl  themselves  towards 
earth  with  extraordinary  violence.  This  marvellous 
wild  wing  display  continued  for  four  or  five  minutes 
before  the  entire  multitude  had  come  to  the  ground. 
Altogether  it  had  been  the  most  magnificent  spectacle 
in  wild-bird  life  I  had  ever  witnessed  in  England. 

It  was  not  until  all  were  down  and  invisible,  and  the 
tumult  of  the  multitudinous  cries  had  sunk  to  silence, 
that  the  wounded  bird,  after  some  moments  of  inde- 
cision, first  taking  a  few  steps  onwards,  then  returning 
to  the  side  of  the  redshanks,  as  if  reluctant  to  part  from 
those  little  unhelpful  friends  lest  he  should  find  no 
others,  finally  set  off  walking  towards  the  sea. 

There  were  no  gunners  out  on  the  shore  at  this 
point  just  then  and  he  would  be  able  to  reach  the  flock 
in  a  little  while,  although  he  would  not  perhaps  be  able 
to  follow  them  to  the  farmlands  on  the  morrow  or  ever 
again. 


WILD   WINGS:    A   FAREWELL         309 

Rough  and  rainy  days  succeeded  that  rare  evening 
of  a  wild-wing  display  on  a  magnificent  scale ;  then 
followed  yet  another  perfect  November  morning 
like  that  on  which  the  martins  had  abandoned  their 
stricken  nest.  A  clear  sky,  a  light  that  glorified  that 
brown  marshy  world  and  a  clear  sharp  air  which 
almost  made  one  think  that  "  miracles  are  not  ceased," 
since  in  breathing  it  in  the  shackles  that  hold  and 
weigh  us  down  appear  to  drop  off.  On  such  a  morn- 
ing it  is  only  necessary  for  a  man  to  mimic  the  actions 
of  a  crane  or  stork  by  lifting  his  arms  and  taking  a 
couple  of  strides  and  a  hop  forward,  to  find  himself 
launched  in  space,  rising  to  a  vast  height,  on  a  voyage 
of  exploration  to  "  heavens  not  his  own  and  worlds 
unknown  before."  It  is  the  nearest  we  can  get  to  the 
state  of  being  a  bird. 

On  that  side  where  the  large  sun  was  coming  up 
the  sky  was  all  a  pale  amber-coloured  flame,  and 
on  it,  seemingly  at  a  great  distance,  appeared  minute 
black  floating  spots,  which  rapidly  increased  in  size 
and  presently  resolved  themselves  into  a  company  of 
hooded  crows  just  arrived  from  their  journey  over 
the  North  Sea.  And  no  sooner  were  they  gone  journey- 
ing inland  in  their  slow-flapping  laborious  manner, 
than  other  crows  and  yet  more  crows  succeeded,  in 
twos  and  threes  and  half-dozens,  and  in  scores  and 
more,  an  endless  straggling  procession  of  hoary 
Scandinavian  or  "  Danish  "  crows  coming  to  winter 
in  England.  And  from  time  to  time  fieldfares,  too, 
appeared,  travelling  a  little  faster  with  an  undulatory 


310         ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

flight,  but  keeping  strictly  to  the  crow-line ;  and 
these  too  appeared  to  be  fatigued  and  journeyed 
silently,  and  there  was  no  sound  but  the  low  swish 
of  their  wings. 

A  morning  and  a  bird -life  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  a 
field  naturalist ;  yet  this  happiness  was  scarcely 
mine  before  a  contrary  feeling  supervened — the  same 
old  ineffable  sadness  experienced  on  former  occasions 
on  quitting  some  spot  which  had  all  unknown  been 
growing  too  dear  to  me.  For  no  sooner  am  I  conscious 
of  such  an  attachment — of  this  queer  trick  of  the 
vegetative  nerves  in  throwing  out  countless  invisible 
filaments  to  fasten  themselves  like  tendrils  to  every 
object  and  "  every  grass,"  or  to  root  themselves  in 
the  soil,  than  I  am  alarmed  and  make  haste  to  sever 
these  inconvenient  threads  before  they  get  too  strong 
for  me,  and  take  my  final  departure  from  that  place. 
For  why  should  these  fields,  these  houses  and  trees, 
these  cattle  and  sheep  and  birds,  these  men  and  women 
and  children,  be  more  to  me  than  others  anywhere  in 
the  land  ? 

However,  I  made  no  desperate  vow  on  this  occa- 
sion :  the  recollection  of  the  wild  geese  prevented 
me  from  saying  a  word  which  could  never  be  unsaid. 
I  had  planned  to  go  that  morning  and  bade  a  simple 
goodbye  :  nevertheless  my  heart  was  heavy  in  me  and 
it  was  perhaps  a  prophetic  heart. 

The  black  straggling  procession  of  crows,  with 
occasional  flocks  of  fieldfares,  had  not  finished  passing 
when  the  train  carried  me  away  towards  Lynn,  skirt- 


WILD  WINGS:    A  FAREWELL        311 

ing  the  green  marshes  or  meadows  sacred  to  the  wild 
geese.  And  here,  before  we  came  to  the  little 
Holkham  station,  I  had  my  last  sight  of  them.  Looking 
out  I  spied  a  party  of  about  a  dozen  Egyptian 
geese,  on  a  visit  to  their  wild  relations,  from 
Holkham  Park  close  by,  and  as  the  train  ap- 
proached they  became  alarmed  and  finally  rose  up 
with  much  screaming  and  cackling  and  flew  from 
us,  showing  their  strongly  contrasted  colours,  black 
and  red  and  glistening  white,  to  the  best  advantage. 
Now  a  very  little  further  on  a  flock  of  about  eight 
hundred  wild  geese  were  stationed.  They  were  all 
standing  with  heads  raised  to  see  the  train  pass  within 
easy  pistol  shot ;  yet  in  spite  of  all  the  noise  and  steam 
and  rushing  motion,  and  of  the  outcry  the  semi- 
domestic  Egyptians  had  raised,  and  their  flight,  these 
wild  geese,  the  most  persecuted  and  wariest  birds  in 
the  world,  uttered  no  sound  of  alarm  and  made  no 
movement ! 

A  better  example  of  this  bird's  intelligence  could 
not  have  been  witnessed ;  nor — from  the  point  of 
view  of  those  who  dream  of  a  more  varied  and  nobler 
wild-bird  life  than  we  have  now  been  reduced  to  in 
England — could  there  have  been  a  more  perfect 
object  lesson. 


INDEX 


ANATID^E  (the  duck  family),  in- 
stances of  intelligence  in  the,  32 

Argentine  ornithology,  53 

Athelney,  lake  of,  197 

Avalon,  185 

Aviculture,  97 

Avington  in  Hampshire,  last 
ravens  at,  255 

Axe  Edge,  source  of  rivers  Wye, 
Goyt,  Dane,  and  Dove,  120  ; 
dreary  farms,  120  ;  sheep  and 
cows  on,  121-2  ;  character  of 
inhabitants,  122  ;  signs  of 
spring,  123  ;  bird  life,  121-32 

BADBURY  RINGS,  pine  grove  and 

earthworks,  262 
Bicycle,  soundlessness  of,  153 
Birds,  books  on,  2,  5  ;  discoverers 
of,  3  ;  delight  in,  6-10  ;  great 
gatherings  of,  32  ;  destruction 
of,  37  ;  helping  instinct  in,  51- 
2,  77-80 ;  friendly  spirit  in, 
62-4,  66,  71-7  ;  absence  of 
large,  in  Peak  district,  1 30  ;  in 
great  woods  and  forests  in  Eng- 
land generally,  275-9 ;  music 
of,  141  ;  charm  of,  212  ;  omens, 
240  ;  window  panes  struck  by, 
242  ;  beauty  of  soaring,  278  ; 
pleasures  of  watching,  211-12, 
298  ;  social  disposition  in,  80 
Bittern,  little,  beauty  of  eggs,  197 
Blackbird,  a  pheasant's  friend, 
62-4  ;  the  one  and  only,  133  ; 
capturing  a  young,  136;  a 
widely  distributed  type,  1 39  ; 
early  morning  singing  of,  148- 
9  ;  nest  of  in  a  London  park, 
161  ;  human-like  music,  185  ; 
C.  A.  Johns  on  song  of,  186; 
C.  A.  Witchell's  records  of  songs, 
187-8;  genius  in  a,  189;  cha- 
racter of  song,  190  ;  in  poetic 


literature,  191  ;    in  early  Irish 

poetry,  152 
Blandford,  156 
Blind  man,  meeting  3,153 
Bulleid,  Dr.,  lake  village  discovered 

by,  195 
Bullfinch,  affectionate  temper  of, 

74 

Bulrushes,  sound  of  wind  in,  196 
Buxton,  an  impression  of,  120 

CARDINAL,  a  caged,  12 

Cerne  and  Cerne  Abbas,  2 1 5 

Chaffinch,  singing  of  a,  147 

Chameleon,  problem  of  the,  282-4 

Chanctonbury  Ring,  262 

Cheddar  valley,  200 

Chepstow,  an  impression  of,  203 

Cloudburst,  a,  at  Wareham,  1 56 

Clumps.     See  Hill-top  groves 

Cobbett,  William,  goldfinches 
seen  by,  218 

Colorin  de  Filis,  El,  224 ;  transla- 
tion of,  227-30 

Cory,  epitaph  from  Callimachus 
234 

Cotton-grass,  195 

Crested  screamer,  great  gather- 
ings of  the,  34 

Crossbills,  flock  of,  200 

Crow,  carrion,  on  hill-top  grove, 
and  in  forest  of  a  millionaire, 
265 

—  hooded,  27,  30  ;  as  food,  58  ; 
scared  by  an  owl,  61-2  ;  a 
killer  of  sick  birds,  99 ;  even- 
ing pastimes  of,  296-8  ;  teasing 
a  wounded  goose,  306 ;  im- 
migration of,  at  Wells,  308 

Cuckoo,  abundance  and  habits  of 
in  Peak  district,  126 

Curlew,  helping  instinct  in,  52  ; 
love  language  and  an  aspect  of, 
129 


313 


3*4 


INDEX 


DARTFORD  WARBLER.  See  Furze- 
wren 

Davies,  Sir  John,  quoted,  208 
Daw,  a  friendly,  72  ;  at  Salisbury 

Cathedral,  182 

Dewpond,  invention  of  the,  261 
Dixon,    on     swallows    forsaking 

their  young,  292 
Dogs,  69 
Dotterel,  ringed,  playful  spirit  of, 

300 
Downs,   the,   effect  of  pasturing 

sheep  on,  260 
Drayton,  Michael,  the  Polyolbion 

of,  197-8 
Duck,  white,  beauty  of  the,  106-9 

an  English  queen's  sobriquet, 

116 
Dutchman,  love  of  birds  of  the, 

285 

ECHO,  a  curious,  59 

England,  beauty  of  spring  in,  1 50  ; 

first  sight  of,  151 
Evolution  of  Bird-Song,  187 

FAWLEY,  New  Forest,  a  black- 
bird at,  189-90 

Fieldfares,  immigration  of,  309 
Forbes,  Stanhope,  on  portraiture, 

Fowler,  W.  Warde,  on  warbling  in 

birds,    135  ;     Marsh    warbler's 

song  described  by,  208 
Fox,  a  pet,  69 
Friendship  in  birds,  66 
Furze-wren,  169  ;    elusiveness  of, 

170  ;     girding    note    of,    172  ; 

a  colony,  172  ;  song  of,  173-7 

GAMEKEEPERS,  destructiveness  of, 
87-91,274 

Garibaldi,  death-bed  incident,  10 

Geese,  wild,  at  Wells  in  Norfolk, 
27-32  ;  intelligent  birds,  28  ; 
great  gatherings,  40  ;  cries,  281; 
arrival  of,  295  ;  starling's  asso- 
ciating with,  303  ;  evening  re- 
turn of  the,  307  ;  tameness  of, 
atHolkham,  311 

Geikie,  Dr.  Cunninghame,  65 

Geochicla,  139 

Glastonbury,  excavations  and  re- 
storations, 185 

Goldcrest  in  a  soldier's  hospital,  8 

Golden  oriole,  a  breeding  haunt 
of  the,  155 


Golden  plover,  1 30 

Goldfinches  in  Dorset  and  Somer- 
set, 217  ;  numbers  of,  seen  by 
Cobbett,  218  ;  increase  of,  due 
to  protective  laws,  247 

Goose,  wild,  a  wounded,  305-6 

Goshawk,  269 

Gospel  Oak  at  Avington,  257 

Grass,  mental  effect  of,  104-6 

Green  colour  of  England,  151 

Guanaco,  a  habit  of  the,  52 

Guarani  legends,  109 

Gulls,  blackheaded,  breeding  of 
with  terns,  33  ;  lapwings 
robbed  by,  301 

HAM  HILL  stone,  180 

Hampshire  village,  161 

Harrogate,  143 

Hawking,  a  fascinating  sport,  268 

Hawks,  pleasure  of  seeing,  267 

Heckfield,  churchyard  in,  253 

Helping  instinct  in  a  troupial,  77  ; 
in  a  blackbird,  78  ;  in  a  mag- 
pie, 79  ;  in  a  lark,  79 

Heron,  playful  spirit  in,  299 

Heronry,  88 

Hill- top  groves  or  "  clumps," 
260  ;  aspect  of  on  hot  days, 
263  ;  wild  life,  263 

Hobby-hawk,  95 

Holkham,  26 ;  refuge  of  wild 
geese  at,  28,  30 

Hollywater  clump,  263 

Horses,  friendships  of,  67-8 

ITCHEN  ABBAS,  village  of,  251 
Ivy- tree,  at  Chepstow,  203 

JACKDAW.     See  Daw 
James,    Prof.    William,    on    im- 
pressions, 107 

KEATS,  ode  to  nightingale,  235 
Kestrel,     appearance     of,     268  ; 
destroyed      by      gamekeepers, 
274,  279  ;    teased  by  starlings, 
301-3 

LAKE  village  at  Glastonbury,  195 
Lapwing,    30  ;     robbed    by   gull, 

301 
—  spur- wing,  singular  action  of, 

Leicester,  Lord,  birds  protected 
by,  32 


INDEX 


Lincolnshire,    Drayton's  account 

of  fens  of,  1 97 
Lydekker,  Mr.  Richard,  34 

MARTIN,  house,  late  breeding  of 
a  pair,  288-92  ;  ousted  by  spar- 
rows, 293 

—  sand,  singular  action  of  a,  49- 
51 

Maxwell,  Sir  Herbert,  bird  pro- 
tection Act  of,  246 

Melendez,  goldfinch  poem  by,  224 

Meredith,  George,  on  the  lark's 
song,  175  ;  nightingale's  song 
described  by,  235 

Merula  (blackbird),  wide  dis- 
tribution of  genus,  139 

Meyer,  Prof.  Kuno,  translations  of 
ancient  Irish  poetry,  192 

Migration  of  Birds,  Dixon's,  292 

Military  starling,  helping  in- 
stinct in,  77  ;  chirping  note,  98 

Mirage  in  England,  263 

Mocking  bird,  Southey's  lines  on, 
207  ;  singing  of  the  Patagonian 
white- winged,  207 

Montacute  house,  180-1 

Montagu  on  the  furze-wren,  1 74 

Montagu's  harrier,  90 

Moor  hen,  162 

NATURALIST  IN  LA  PLATA,  34,  36, 

4° 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  belief  con- 
cerning migration,  234 

Nightingale,  a  Yeovil,  182-4; 
migration  and  distribution,  232- 
8,  243  ;  myths  and  poetry  234- 
5  ;  song,  235  ;  anecdote,  240-2  ; 
extermination  in  Germany,  245 

OLDYS,    Henry,   Mr.,   studies    of 

bird  music  by,  187 
Owl,  long-eared,  in  hill-top  grove, 

271-2  ;  habit  of  the,  272 

PAGET,  Miss  Rosalind,  8 

Parish  clerk,  25 

Partridge,  friendship  with  horse 

of,  80 
Passenger  pigeon,  extirpation  of 

the,  39 
Patagonian  mocking-bird,  song  of, 

188 

Peak  of  Derbyshire,  1 19 
Peewit.     See  Lapwing 


Peregrine  falcon,  268 

Pheasant,  and  blackbird,  62  ; 
a  tame,  64-5  ;  a  sacred  bird, 
89-94 

Phyllis  and  her  goldfinch,  prose 
translation  of  Spanish  poem 
of,  227-30 

Pipit,  meadow,  and  cuckoo,  126 

Pleydell-Bouverie,  Mansel,  217 

Plover,  golden,  130 

Poetic  feeling  in  north  and  south 
Britain,  183 

Poetry,  Spanish,  freedom  of,  224 

Pollock,  W.  H.,  sensations  in  a  bel- 
fry described  by,  201 

Polyolbion,  Drayton's,  198 

Poole,  recreations  of  the  people 
at,  157-9 

Proctor,  A.  A.,  "Child  and  the 
Bird,"  225-6 

Protection  of  birds,  Royal  Society 
for  the,  249 

Psophia  leucoptera.  See  Trum- 
peter. 

QUERQUEDULA  flavirostra,  74 

RAIL,  water,  196 

Ravens,  last  of  the  Hampshire, 

Redbreast  injured,  fed  by  mag- 
pie, 79  ;  wailing  note  of,  1 39  ; 
favoured  by  sentiment,  245  ; 
young  persecuted  by,  259 

Redshanks,  and  wounded  goose, 
306 

Redstart,  a  black,  285 

Redwing,  96 ;  song  of  the,  97  ; 
not  a  cage  bird,  97  ;  beauty  of, 
1 02 

Ring-ouzel,  131,  133-9 

Robin.     See  Redbreast 

Roman  pavement  at  Itchen 
Abbas,  254 

Rural  Rides,  218 

Rusby,  Dr.,  on  the  trumpeter,  47 

Ruskin  on  the  colouring  of  phea- 
sants, 93 

Ryme  Intrinsica,  village  of,  215, 
219 

SALISBURY  Cathedral,  birds  on, 
182 

Salt,  Mr.  Micah,  a  Buxton  natura- 
list, 125,  127 

Sandpiper,  130 


3i6 


INDEX 


Saunders,  Howard,  on  the  furze- 
wren,  176 

Seabirds,  destruction  of,  37-8 
Sheep,  in  the  Peak  district,  121  ; 

on  the  downs,  260 
Sherborne  Abbey,  the  colour  of, 

181 
Silchester,  birds'  bones  in  ash  pits 

at,  86 
Sinclair,    Sir    John,    nightingales 

bred  by,  244 
Siskin,  black-headed,  a  memory 

of,  220-3 
Southey,  mocking-bird  described 

by,  207 
Sparrow-hawk,  small  bird  killed 

by,    171  ;    nesting   in    hill-top 

grove,  266-7  ;  hunting  method 

of,  269-71 

Sparrows  driving  out  martins,  293 
Spencer,    Herbert,    on    love    of 

wildness  in  man,  276 
Squirrel,  hunting  a,  297  ;    eccen- 
tric behaviour  of  a,  286 
Starling  mimicry,  210 
Starlings  teasing  a  kestrel,  301  ; 

accompanying  wild  geese,  303  ; 

unity  in  flock,  of,  304 
Stuart-Wortley.  A.,  on  pheasant 

shooting,  91 
Swallow,  habits  of,  50  ;  forsaking 

their    young,    288  ;     wintering 

in  England,  292 

Swan,  friendship  of  with  a  trout, 
V       81-2 

Swift,  a  habit  of  the,  49 
Swinburne,  poetry  of,  225 

NX' TEAL  anecdotes,  74-7 
Terns,  breeding-place,  33 
Tilshead,  village  of,  72 
Tinamou,  spotted,  love  call  of,  1 29 


Tintern  Abbey,  birds  breeding  on, 

204 

Tree-climbing  contests,  257 
Troupials  (Icterida),  9,  16,  77 
Trumpeter,  friendly  disposition  of, 

47 

VIZCACHA,  a  S.  American  rodent, 
20 

WALLACE,  Dr.  A.  R.,  149 

Walnut-tree,  a  noble,  203 

Walton,  Isaac,  on  nightingale's 
song,  235 

Warbler,  marsh,  colony,  304-5  ; 
song  and  imitations,  207-10; 
listening  to  the,  213-14 

Wareham,  St.  Mary's,  1 56 

Water-squealer,  130 

Wells-next-the-Sea,  character  of, 
25  ;  a  wood  at,  58  ;  on  the 
saltings  at,  95  ;  return  to,  280 

Whinchat,  song  of,  128  ;  night- 
singing,  148  ;  marsh  warblers 
imitation  of,  song  of,  210 

White,  Gilbert,  on  the  music  of 
field  crickets,  142  ;  on  last 
ravens,  256 

Wild  bird  protection  legislation, 

37 
Willow  wren,  at  Harrogate,  144  ; 

song    of   mimicked    by    marsh 

warbler,  209,  210 
Willughby,  on  the  nightingale,  246 
Wimborne,  church  at,  1 56 
Winscombe,  village  of,  200 
Witchell,  C.  A.,  on  bird  music,  187 
Wolf,  a  pet,  69-71 

YEOVIL,    sand    martins    at,  49 ; 

nightingale  at,  182 
Yetminster,  village  of,  215 


Printed  by  Hasell,  Watson  &  Vinty,  LA.,  London  and  Aylesbury. 


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